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Western Theatre of the War.

Eastern Theatre of the War.

THE ADVANCE ON TRIESTE.

When Italy entered upon war she had a double purpose. If she struck heavily, she might break through the frontier guards before Austria could reinforce them; and even if she failed, the vigour of her attack might compel the Austro-Germans to send large armies, which would weaken the critical Galician front. Austria, in reply, remained stubbornly on the defensive, utilizing the strong protection of the border-line which she had inherited. For the better part of a month the forces under the Archduke Eugene and Conrad von Hoetzendorff were only Landwehr and Landsturm, the latter including some levies from the Tirolese mountaineers. No troops were withdrawn from Galicia until the main Austro-German objective in that country had been attained, and the clearing of the Carpathian line had made Hungary secure. The immediate purpose of Italy was therefore frustrated. Her attack on the Isonzo in no way relieved the fierce pressure on Ivanov’s armies, and after three months’ campaign she had failed to win to Trieste, or to cut the Austrian line beyond the Dolomite Passes. The frontier was a barrier formidable even beyond the dreams of its makers.

Yet these three months had been crowned with many successes, and the Italian effort must not at this stage be judged topographically by the extent of country won. To do justice to the valour of Cadorna’s armies, we must keep constantly in mind the extraordinary obstacles which faced them. The strength of the mountain barrier of the Trentino and the Carnic Alps needs no explaining, but the line of the Isonzo was only less difficult to force.

The Isonzo cuts its way southwards through the butt of the Julian Alps in a deep gorge which ends sharply north of the town of Gorizia. Gorizia lies in a pocket of the hills, with the uplands protecting it in a semicircle on the north. West of the Isonzo, dominating the bridgehead and the road and railway to Gradisca and Udine, is the spur of Podgora, which also commands Gorizia itself. South of the town stretch some four miles of level plain, till on the east bank of the river rises the extraordinary plateau which Italians call the Carso and Austrians the Karst, and which rolls east and west behind Trieste, and south almost to the sea. Between it and the coast is a strip of flat land which carries a railway. The Carso is a low, wind-swept tableland, strewn with limestone boulders, seamed with deep fissures, and covered with rough scrub and great masses of scree. North of Gorizia the Julian Alps rise towards the stony uplands of the Krn or Monte Nero. A tributary, the Baca, enters the Isonzo on the eastern bank a little south of the town of Tolmino, and up its difficult valley and through the great Wochein tunnel runs the railway to Villach and Vienna.

The difficulties of such a country for the offensive are so obvious as scarcely to need explanation. The only passage through the uplands was the strip of land beside the sea, far too narrow for an army to travel. The flat land south of Gorizia was not really a gap, for the hills closed in a mile or two east of the town. The ridges of Monte Nero, the gorge of the Upper Isonzo, and the plateau of the Carso offered secure positions for any defence.

Since the main object of General Cadorna was Trieste, it was desirable to cut, if possible, the communications of that city with its bases of supply. The navy of Italy could ensure that nothing entered it by sea. Trieste is served by two chief lines—one running by Gorizia and the Wochein tunnel to Villach, the other by St. Peter’s to Laibach. The first had two branches which united at Gorizia—one by the coast and Monfalcone, the other running direct across the Carso plateau. The second received a branch from Pola, and at St. Peter’s the main line from Fiume. To isolate Gorizia it was not enough to cut the Villach line north of it, or the Monfalcone line south of it. The Carso line in the east must also be cut, and that involved a considerable advance across the plateau. To isolate Trieste was still more difficult. The cutting of the Gorizia line would deprive it of its best and shortest connection with Vienna; but there would still remain the Laibach line, which would only be effectively cut if the junction at St. Peter’s was captured.

What looked like open country to a casual student of the map was therefore in its character an intricate and difficult natural fortress. The Carso, in particular, was a position which might be compared with the Labyrinth in the Artois, save that it owed its chief strength to nature rather than to man. A swift advance was out of the question, however feeble the Austrian defence might be at the outset. General Cadorna’s first task must be to reduce the position by the capture of its chief details.

Railway Communications of Trieste.

Gorizia was the key of the Austrian front. So long as it was held it blocked any real advance across the Carso, since it threatened an attack on the flank, and, till the Carso railway was cut, could be munitioned direct from Trieste. The Austrians held not only the town but the bridgehead on the west bank of the Isonzo, and the spur of Podgora which commanded that bridgehead. The Italian army advanced against this front in three forces. One, consisting largely of Alpine troops, moved against Tolmino and the heights of Monte Nero. Its immediate task was to cut the Vienna line north of Gorizia, and to protect the left of the main advance against reinforcements coming from the direction of Villach. The centre moved directly against Gorizia itself, and especially against the Austrian position on the Podgora spur. The right wing advanced on Monfalcone, to cut the coast railway and begin the assault on the Carso plateau. All three movements were fortunate in their communications. The Italian left had the railway to Cividale, and the roads beyond over the Starasella Pass and the other saddles of the Julian range. The centre had the Udine-Gorizia railway. The right wing had the San Giorgio-Monfalcone line.

By 1st June the Italians had occupied the greaterJune 1. part of the west bank of the Isonzo with little opposition. The Austrians had chosen their line, and were not concerned to defend the indefensible. The weather in early June was heavy rain, and those who know the quick flooding of the torrents which descend from the Julian Alps will realize how slow must be an advance in such conditions. The Italian mobilization was not yet complete, and the fighting fell chiefly to the screen of troops on the flanks. The left wing was beyond the Isonzo at Caporetto, and fighting its way among the shale and boulders of Monte Nero, where the Austrian artillery had strong positions. The navy and the air service were active, and Monfalcone was under constant bombardment.

On the 7th an advance in force began all alongJune 7-10. the front. The left wing continued its struggle for the Monte Nero slopes. Bridgeheads were established along the Middle Isonzo south of Gorizia, and large bodies of cavalry crossed at various points, and began the work of entrenching on the eastern bank. On 9th June Monfalcone fell without trouble. It was scarcely defended, for it lay outside the zone which the Austrians had marked for their defence. This meant that one of the loops of the Gorizia-Trieste railway was cut, but the Carso branch still remained. Next day the centre made a great effort east of Gradisca and Sagrado, but the river line proved far stronger than had been believed. So did Tolmino, which was now under the fire of Italian guns. The only success was won that night at Plava, north of Gorizia, where a surprise attack carried the place, and so menaced the railway from Gorizia to Vienna. The floods were the main obstacles on the lower course of the river, and the Austrians added to these by breaking the banks of the Monfalcone canal. Had it been possible during these days to push forward in full strength, Trieste would probably have fallen, for the Austrian armies were still slender. But the weather and the incompleteness of the Italian mobilization made the advance partial and ineffective. So good a chance was not destined to appear again for many months.

Gorizia (Görz).

From now on Austrian troops began to arrive from the Galician front. Some portion of the Tirolese Corps—there can now have been little left of it—was brought to the lines in the mountains. Regiments of Southern Slavs, who had no love for Italy, were brought to the Isonzo, and so spared the difficult task of fighting against their Russian kinsmen. Lastly, there came at least one division of Hungarians, who, apart from the Tirolese, represented the finest fighting material in the Austrian ranks. The chance of an easy victory was slipping from Italy’s hands. General Cadorna was discovering the strength of the Austrian artillery, which seems to have been admirably placed. All along the western fringe of the Carso, and especially on the Podgora spur which commands Gorizia, were ramifications of trench lines, protected by elaborate entanglements and fortins, and with the glacis heavily wired. The Austrian staff had not forgotten the lesson of Galicia.

On 15th June the first Italian attack was madeJune 15-18. on the Podgora position. Next day the Alpini on the left wing carried an important position on Monte Nero, climbing the rocks by night, attacking at dawn, and taking many prisoners. But the conquest of these lower slopes of the mountains did not greatly advance the purpose of the campaign. No guns of great calibre could follow them, and Tolmino, where Dante is rumoured to have written part of his great poem, could, with its fortress artillery, defy the posts on the heights. On the 17th the Villach-Gorizia line near Plava was definitely cut. That fight for Plava was a spirited performance. The village lies in the bottom of the ravine beside the swift river, with precipitous wooded hills on either side. The bridge had been destroyed; but the Italians with a great effort constructed pontoons during the night, and at dawn on the 17th began their attack. The defence had 12-inch guns, and entrenchments surrounded by deep networks of wire. By the evening the Italians had carried the first line with the bayonet, and stood firm all night against counter-attacks. Next day they routed the enemy, taking many prisoners, and occupied the heights on the eastern bank of the stream.

In the following week there were repeatedJune 25-30. counter-attacks at Plava and on Monte Nero, where the Italian Alpini seem to have been engaged with their fellow-mountaineers of Tirol. By the 25th some ground north of Plava was won, and, what was more important, a beginning was made with the advance on the Carso, the edge of the plateau being gained between Sagrado and Monfalcone; while from Cormons the Podgora position and the Gorizia bridgehead were bombarded. The month of June closed in storms, with thick fog in the mountains, which interfered with artillery work, and deluges of rain in the flats. By this time the inundations of the Lower Isonzo were being mastered, for the Italian engineers, working under the enemy’s fire, succeeded in damming the opening of the Monfalcone canal. On the 28th the bridgehead of Castelnuovo, on the east bank of the river, was carried by a bayonet attack. This gave General Cadorna two important bridgeheads—Plava was the other—inside the Austrian zone of defence. Monfalcone, though on the east bank, was outside the zone, and Caporetto and Gradisca were on the wrong side. On the last day of June there was a great artillery bombardment, but a general infantry attack on the centre failed to achieve any results.

The position was now that Cadorna’s left wing was strongly posted, but in the nature of things could not do much against Tolmino; his centre was facing the great entrenched camp of Gorizia; while his right was on the edge of the Carso, and had advanced its flank as far as Duino, on the Monfalcone-Trieste railway. The Gorizia line had been cut north and south of the town, and only the Carso line remained to link the fortress with Trieste. The first rush had failed, but preliminary positions had been won from which to initiate the main struggle for the plateau and the Gorizia defences.

That struggle began on 2nd July. It was anJuly 2. attack on a broad front, not less than twenty-five miles, and it was aimed directly at Gorizia. The left was to occupy the heights east of Plava and then swing round through the Ternovanerwald against the defences of Gorizia in the north, and east round the village of San Gabriele and San Daniele. The centre was directed against the Podgora spur and the Gorizia bridgehead, while the right, which had already won the western and south-western edges of the Carso, was to swing round against the northern part of that plateau which takes its name from the village of Doberdo. The chief operative movement was that of the right wing, for, if the Doberdo upland were carried, the Trieste railway would be cut and Gorizia must fall. The forces on Monte Nero might be regarded as an outlying defence of the left flank of the advance.

The long and confused fighting which began onJuly 3-5. 2nd July, and which ebbed away into an artillery duel about the middle of August, is properly to be considered as one action, which we may call the First Battle of the Isonzo. The details may be briefly summarized. On 3rd July the centre attacked fiercely the Podgora position, and next day, after a lengthy bombardment, the right pushed some way into the Carso. On the 5th the centre and right—four corps strong—were again in action, and slowly advanced their lines, taking over 1,000 prisoners. The Italians—now less than twenty miles from Trieste—had got some of their heavy guns up to the edge of the plateau, and for a few days there was a continuous bombardment and counter-bombardment. On Monday, the 19th, theJuly 19-20. right made a successful attack, carrying several lines of trenches, and taking two thousand prisoners and six machine guns. Next day the centre, after a desperate fight, carried a considerable section of the Podgora spur, though the Austrians still held the eastern end overlooking Gorizia.

Meanwhile the left had been heavily engaged in the Plava neighbourhood. Four brigades were hurled against the wooded heights east of the river, and for two days fought their way from ledge to ledge. The Hungarians who opposed them, being plainsmen unaccustomed to mountain warfare, yielded at first before the attack of the Alpini, but fought resolutely on the upper heights. The Italian batteries from the other side of the river plastered the hillside with shell, till the mountain flared to heaven like a volcano. A Dalmatian regiment was brought up from the Austrian reserves, and, concealed in rifts and gullies, their fire flung back three times the charge of the Piedmontese. Then came a period of utter weariness, and for twenty-four hours both sides rested. Next day three new Italian brigades were brought up, and King Victor Emmanuel himself was present to encourage his troops. The final assault carried the heights, the last ground being won by a close-quarters struggle with the bayonet. This Plava battle was terribly costly to both sides, and the Italian commander was seriously wounded in the closing stage.

The action was renewed along the whole frontJuly 22. on 22nd July. That day the Italian right captured the crest of San Michele, which dominated most of the Doberdo plateau. Before evening a violent cross-fire drove them off the actual ridge, but they maintained their position just below it. General Cadorna was now engaged with the enemy’s second line of defence, and he found it stronger than the first line. To add to his difficulties, further reinforcements arrived in the early days of August, chiefly from von Woyrsch’s army in the Ivangorod region, for the fall of Warsaw had enabled the enemy to dispense with some of his troops. By the middle of August the first great Battle of the Isonzo had virtually ceased.

The result was stalemate. Much ground had been won, but no vital position had been carried. Gorizia was intact, and Trieste was no nearer its fall than in the first weeks of the campaign. The line of the Isonzo had been carried, except the loop west of Gorizia. The western and southern portions of the Carso were in Italian hands, including the important vantage points of Sei Busi, San Martino, and San Michele. The Plava heights had been won, but it was difficult to advance from there; the western part of the Podgora spur was in Italian hands, but not the critical eastern section. Gorizia was invested on three sides, but no one of its vital outworks had been taken. General Cadorna was discovering a truth which had been burned in upon the minds of the armies in Western Europe—that a first line may be carried, but that the real difficulties only begin with the second line. Provided the enemy has his communications intact, and has a country behind him well adapted by nature to defence, a withdrawal may only mean the accession of fresh strength. The Austrian Staff deserves credit for the handling of this section of the campaign. They chose their ground with skill, defending only what was defensible, and allowed the enemy to break his teeth against positions which were short of their vital lines. The Italian plan was sound, the Italian fighting was beyond praise for its courage and resolution; but once again was proved the enormous strength of the defence in modern war, provided that its artillery equipment be adequate. The result of the three months’ campaign was a check, and since the offensive was with Italy the Austrian command was justified in claiming the honours.

Italy’s campaign in the high mountains was primarily a war of defence. She must safeguard her flanks and rear before she could push on with confidence beyond the Isonzo. Such offensive purpose as she had was subsidiary to the main effort against Trieste, and did not absorb any large numbers of men. We have seen that the mountain battle-ground fell into three clearly marked areas—the salient of the Trentino, the passes of the Dolomites, and the passes of the Carnic Alps. Very early in June she had won the crest of the ridge in the two latter theatres, and developed a slow offensive against the Pusterthal railway. In the Trentino the problem of defence was more intricate. It was not enough to win the rim of the salient. She must push her front well inland towards the nodal points of the converging valleys. By August this task had been largely accomplished, and she could look forward with composure to the winter, since she held the key of the mountain gates.

Line of the Isonzo.—Front held by the Italians in August.

The details of the Carnic fighting would convey little save to experts in its confused topography. Early in June the Italians had crossed the frontier at the railway pass of the Fella, and the Austrian fort of Malborghetto was under their guns. At the same time an attack was made on the right by way of the Predil Pass against Plezzo, and the mule paths over the range on the left were occupied by parties of Alpini. No effective crossing of the range was, however, achieved, and the important railway junction of Tarvis was not in danger.

In the Western Carnic Alps the main struggle centred round the pass of Monte Croce Carnico. A fortnight after the outbreak of war the Alpini had driven the Austrians from the dominating position to the east of the pass. They then took the Zellenkoffel to the west, and in successive weeks captured the summits of Pal Grande, Freikoffel, and Pal Piccolo. This gave the pass to Italian hands; but the Austrians, supported by their artillery on the northern hills, clung to the farther slopes. The Italians blasted paths and gun positions out of the solid rock, and secured their position; but, beyond repulsing Austrian counter-attacks, they found themselves unable to do much during the summer. As an example of the dash of the Alpini, the capture of the Freikoffel may be cited. The summit was taken by ten volunteers, who climbed the sheer southern wall of the peak in the darkness before the summer dawn.

Farther west, in the Dolomite region, the attack was pressed hard, for the objective was very near. Cortina had been captured on 30th May, and the Italians moved westwards towards the Falzarego Pass, which leads to Bozen, and north towards the Pusterthal railway. The former advance may be regarded merely as a flank guard, but the latter was a serious effort conducted with great skill and audacity. From the Ampezzo valley there are two main routes to the railway. One is the Strada d’Alemagna from Cortina under the precipices of Tofana to Schluderbach and Toblach, and another goes by the Sexten valley to Innichen. Between the two lies a third from Misurina by the Val Popena, which joins the first route at Schluderbach. There are other paths for cragsmen, but these are the only roads for guns and transport.

Sketch Map of the Passes by which the Italians attempted to penetrate into the Pusterthal.

By the middle of August the Italians had crossed the watershed, and were only a few miles from the Pusterthal railway. Casual students of the map daily anticipated that that line must be cut. But the difficulties of the Dolomite advance were not to be measured in yards and miles. The debouchment at Toblach was a narrow opening among precipitous crags. All the routes led through defiles, where an advance could only be secured by the capture of the neighbouring heights. This the Alpini brilliantly performed. They scaled the shining white cliffs of Tofana and Cristallo, and brought their mountain guns to vantage points which cleared the passes for some distance before them. The Austrians, with the assistance of their forts, fought delaying actions in the narrows, and their detachments skirmished on the heights. In this stage of the business the Italians had a clear advantage, but the real defence of the Pusterthal had not begun. It is the first rule in mountain warfare that to control a pass you must control its debouchments. In the Pusterthal, with its excellent railway, the reserves were waiting to greet the heads of any columns that passed the defiles. With a broad valley and a railway behind it the defence could concentrate where it pleased. The Italians, on the other hand, could not support each other, for each column moved in its own groove, and their only lateral communications were far behind in the easier country of the foothills. The Alpini, who could see from above Schluderbach the rock gate which led to Toblach almost within range of their field guns, were in reality as far from their objective as if a province had intervened. Italy had made good her defence on the northern heights, but the conditions were still ominously against a true offensive.

The Trentino campaign aimed only at the security of the Lombard plains. By the end of May the Italians had the passes, and were moving by three main routes—by the Adige valley against Rovereto, and by the Val Sugana and the Val Giudicaria against Trent. Farther north, on the western side of the salient, they were holding the watershed in the vicinity of the Tonale and Stelvio passes. The movement on Trent and Rovereto was slow and difficult, owing to the necessity of mastering in detail the surrounding heights and the immense strength of the Austrian fortifications, hewn, as they often were, out of the living rock. The main interest of the summer months was the curious campaign on the western ridges, where fighting became a business of small detachments widely separated by precipitous ravines and snow-clad peaks. Those who have mountaineered in the Adamello and Ortler groups know the strait, steep valleys, with meadows in the bottoms and woods of fir and pine on the lower slopes, and above them the stony heights studded with green alps, and over all the snows and glaciers of the summits. In such country there was room for only small bodies of troops, and the raising of guns to the lofty ridges was a toil which only the hardiest mountain-bred soldiers could accomplish. The Austrians, mountain-bred also, were not an enemy to be despised, and many desperate encounters took place among screes and rock terraces—campaigning only to be paralleled by the exploits of the Gurkhas in the Lhasa expedition, it was a type of mountain warfare far more arduous than the campaign among the low saddles of the Carpathians.

By the middle of August the eagle’s feathers of the Alpini were seen on all the vantage grounds from the Stelvio to Lake Garda. A chain of posts lined the heights, passing through the snows of the Ortler summit and the high mountain huts of the Adamello. In these eyries, often at a height of more than 10,000 feet, entrenchments and entanglements were created, guns were put in position, and the strange spectacle was seen of barbed wire among the crevasses of the glaciers. Mountaineers know the peculiar qualities of the best Italian guides—their inexhaustible resource, their inspired audacity, and their unwearying zest for difficulties. The same qualities were present in the work of Italy’s mountain soldiers. Feats of physical endurance, which involved long days of unbelievable toil, were varied by expeditions whose keynote was boyish adventure. One party of Alpini blew up a power-station in a gorge which supplied the forts of Rovereto. Others made night attacks which involved wonderful feats of cragsmanship, dropping from the skies at midnight upon an unsuspecting enemy. This clean warfare on the old simple lines suited the genius of Northern Italy, and it abundantly achieved its purpose. If the Adige valleys were still in Austrian hands, the plains of Lombardy were none the less safe from the invader.

The naval war during those months showed noJune 6-July 25. action of importance. The Austrian battle fleet lay snug in Pola, and only its submarines and smaller craft ventured into the northern Adriatic. The Italian fleet in June cruised along the Dalmatian coast, and destroyed the wireless stations on the islands of Lissa and Cuzzola. On 6th June the cables were cut between the Dalmatian islands and the mainland, and the Ragusa railway was bombarded. On the 18th an Austrian cruiser and four destroyers attacked Fano, on the Adriatic coast, but did little damage. On 7th July Italy proclaimed a blockade of the Austrian and Albanian coasts, warning off vessels of all flags from the Adriatic. Early on the morning of the 18th a substantial loss was sustained, the old Italian cruiser Giuseppe Garibaldi being sunk off Cattaro by an Austrian submarine, with the loss of one hundred lives. On the 23rd some Austrian destroyers bombarded Ortona and the coast railway. Two days later the Italians occupied the Dalmatian island of Pelagosa, and a French destroyer blew up the submarine and aeroplane supply station on the island of Laogosta. These incidents had little importance, belonging only to the outer fringe of naval activity. The Italian losses to the end of July were two cruisers, a submarine, and a destroyer. The situation in the Adriatic was in miniature the same as that in the North Sea—the Allied Fleet had the mastery, and moved at its pleasure, subject to the menace of submarines and occasional abortive raids of the enemy’s lighter vessels. The much-indented Illyrian coast had, since the days of Virgil, been a hostile sheltering ground too good for the ease of the Adriatic.

The relations between Italy and the Teutonic League were in the beginning of August curiously vague. She was definitely at war with Austria only—a war supported by the full weight of racial aversion and traditional grievances. But she had not declared war against Germany, though diplomatic relations between the two Powers were suspended. It may be assumed that the Wilhelmstrasse laboured to prevent a rupture, and hoped after the conclusion of the war to placate Italy at Austria’s expense. Germany had for forty years been engaged in building up great commercial interests in Italy, and she had no desire to lose her financial control of some of the chief Italian industries. It may be added that the fire of resentment against German ideals did not burn so fiercely in Italian hearts as among the other Allies. The popular repugnance to Germanenthum went rather to increase the hatred felt for the traditional enemy of Vienna than to pillory the dimly realized plotters of Berlin.

But with the third member of the Teutonic League Italy had a long-standing quarrel. The war with Turkey, which broke out in October 1911, ended a year later with the Treaty of Lausanne. But it should be noted that under that treaty Turkey did not recognize formally the Italian occupation of Tripoli and Cyrenaica. She ignored it, and set herself to put every possible difficulty in Italy’s way. Italian prisoners of war were not released; the Ottoman troops in Libya remained under their old officers and flag. Enver continued sporadic hostilities during the closing months of 1912, and Aziz Bey did not leave the country till June 1913. After that, Turkish officers, specially trained by Enver, continued to drift back to Tripoli and Cyrenaica, and encourage the recalcitrant Arab bands. When the great war broke out, the jehad was preached as much against the Italians in Libya as against the French in Morocco and the British in Egypt. By the summer of 1915 Italy’s North African possessions were in a state of profound confusion and unrest, and not unnaturally she blamed Turkey for the situation. Her diplomatic protests had been treated with the more than Oriental apathy of Constantinople.

There was another and a very real grievance.Aug. 3. The liberty of Italian subjects within the Ottoman Empire itself had recently been grossly interfered with. Italian citizens had not been allowed to depart from various ports in Asia Minor. Turkey anticipated a declaration of war, and behaved as if it had already come. On 3rd August the Italian Ambassador in Constantinople addressed a Note to the Porte demanding among other things that Italians should be allowed to depart freely from Beirut, Smyrna, Mersina, Alexandretta, Haifa, and Jaffa, and that local authorities in the interior should give up their opposition to the movement of Italian subjects to the coast and provide facilities for their voyage. This Note was in form an ultimatum, and forty-eight hours were granted for its consideration. The Grand Vizier accepted all the demands within the time specified, but he did nothing more. On the 9th news arrived that the Turkish authoritiesAug. 9-21. had revoked their consent to the departure of Italians at Beirut and Mersina. On Saturday, 21st August, Italy’s patience was exhausted, and she declared war against Turkey.

It was presently announced that Italy would not be content with a passive hostility, but would send an expedition to the Eastern Mediterranean. From a military point of view this decision was scarcely defensible, and there is reason to believe that it was opposed by General Cadorna and the military authorities. She was engaged in a very difficult and laborious campaign in Europe, in which her picked troops—the Alpini and the Bersaglieri—had suffered heavily. The situation in Libya was unsettled, and at any moment she might be obliged to increase her forces there, or see rebellion triumph. An expedition to the Dardanelles must be a strong one if it was to effect anything, and it was hard to see how first-line troops could be spared. This policy may almost certainly be attributed to the Italian Foreign Office, which believed that the disruption of Turkey was inevitable, and wished to stake out claims in Asia Minor and among the islands against the day of dissolution.

The news of Italy’s declaration of war followed hard upon a great effort of Britain to force the Gallipoli defences. We must return to that ill-omened peninsula, where for four months a struggle had continued only less desperate than Russia’s grapple with her pursuers.

THE DEADLOCK AT GALLIPOLI.

In the old historical novels the hero, when he was not to be observed wending his way on horseback up a mountain path in the twilight, was generally found holding a narrow staircase against uncounted foes. To the Turks had fallen the favourite romantic situation. We had chosen to attack them in one of the strongest natural fortresses in the world. The convex arc of the Achi Baba heights might have been created for a modern defence. Not a yard of it was dead ground. Every foot was exposed to bombardment from the well-placed guns and the concentric trench lines. With a base a few miles square, we attempted by frontal fighting to win a step now and then of the staircase. It is true that the Australasian Corps had secured a position on the enemy’s right rear; but that, too, was a step of a staircase, and our overseas troops clung precariously to the edge of the cliffs. Every inch of our position was under fire, and there was no safe hinterland for wounded and reserves except that gained by an embarkation and a voyage. The wounded had to go to Alexandria and Malta, and munitions, food, and water had to travel many leagues of sea. The position is best described in Sir Ian Hamilton’s words: “The country is broken, mountainous, arid, and void of supplies; the water found in the areas occupied by our forces is quite inadequate for their needs; the only practicable beaches are small, cramped breaks in impracticable lines of cliffs; with the wind in certain quarters no sort of landing is possible; the wastage, by bombardment and wreckage, of lighters and small craft has led to crisis after crisis in our carrying capacity; whilst over every single beach plays fitfully throughout each day a devastating shell fire at medium ranges.”

Such a position would have been grave against a feeble opponent. But the Turk was no despicable foe. He had long before at Plevna proved himself a great master of defensive war. He was aided by the best German military skill and the latest German science. He was holding the gate of his sacred capital against the infidel—a gate, like the bridge of Horatius, where a thousand might be stopped by three; but his numbers were greater than ours. He was like a posse of mailed men on the summit of a narrow stairway, with every advantage of ground, weapon, and forewarning.

In June the political and strategic importance of the Dardanelles expedition had been amply proved. What had not been dreamed of in April had come to pass. The determined attack upon Russia could not yet be balanced by a counter-offensive in the West, and the Dardanelles was the only terrain where the Allies could directly aid the hard-pressed armies of the Tsar. They were striking a blow to free the Russian left flank, to secure a passage for munitions to the Black Sea ports, and to win for Christendom and Russia the cradle of the Orthodox Church and the capital of that Eastern Roman Empire to which Russia was the legitimate heir. The value of the enterprise on Russian public opinion cannot be overstated. Strategically, too, it was more than defensible. The Allies could not win the war within reasonable time without the help of the Russian armies, and anything which conduced to their aid was a contribution to the whole Allied cause. Provided that some day the enemy’s field forces were destroyed, it mattered little in what part of Europe that destruction took place. Besides, Germany had given the East a special significance. It was clear that, as a great land power, she was turning her eyes more and more to those vast continental tracts of Eastern Europe and Western Asia where sea-power was meaningless. Whatever happened in the West, her victory there might threaten India and Egypt, points as vital for the British Empire as Verdun and Belfort were vital for France. Only in the Ægean and the Marmora could we use our fleets to strike at this malign aggression.

But if by midsummer the political and strategical value of the Dardanelles expedition was beyond criticism, the passing of the weeks raised the gravest doubts as to the wisdom of the actual plan adopted. We had chosen to attack the Turks in their central fortress, where they had all the advantages. It is easy to imagine the kind of argument which led us to the attempt. Our business was to secure as quickly as possible a passage for our fleet, and for this purpose to destroy the Narrows forts by taking them in the rear. To land in Gallipoli seemed the shortest way of accomplishing our desires. But it could only seem the shortest way to those who were ignorant of the nature of the ground and the quality of the Turkish defence. Had we had the chance of making a surprise attack it would have been different, but for weeks and months we had advertised our intentions to the world. There was no lack of people to give us accurate information. Englishmen had been employed in the Turkish service; Englishmen had helped to fortify the Bulair line; and there were scores of our countrymen who could have explained the precise difficulties of Gallipoli. There is reason, too, to believe that we had the benefit of the advice of the Greek General Staff. For Greece the Dardanelles was one of the chief problems, and for years she had carefully studied it. Her opinion was undoubtedly adverse to a landing in Gallipoli, and the guess may be hazarded that the absence of Greek co-operation in April was not wholly due to her political difficulties. She may well have declined the honour of being massacred in our company in an adventure which she believed foredoomed to failure. The time is not yet for a final judgment, but it looks as if those responsible for the plan of the Gallipoli attack may have to bear the heaviest burden of criticism from future historians of the war.

Gallipoli was not the only avenue to Constantinople. Troops might have been landed at the head of the Gulf of Saros to move through Thrace, or on the coast of the Trojan plain to advance along the southern shores of the Marmora. There were difficulties in both cases, but none comparable to those encountered in Gallipoli. In those areas the Allied forces would have been able to move on a broad front, and to fight a campaign of manœuvre battles. Success in either would in time have led to the fall of Gallipoli, since the supplies of that fortress would have been cut. Why neither alternative was adopted is not yet clear, but a possible explanation may be found in the fact that the whole affair in its inception was an Admiralty enterprise. The fleet was the main thing, the landing force was a mere adjunct to assist the passage of the ships, and success was looked for from a combination of naval fire and infantry attacks. In these circumstances an elaborate land campaign which would take the troops far inland seemed out of the question. That is the difficulty of all amphibious warfare. The special interests of each service may be sacrificed in attempting a compromise. There can be little doubt but that, if the Allies had landed in April in Asia Minor or Thrace, the situation by midsummer would have been greatly in their favour. The world would have lacked the tale of an heroic feat of arms, but Constantinople would have been gravely menaced. As it was, in June the menace had scarcely begun. We were locked up in a neck of land where there was no room for strategy, and where at the most, by great expenditure of life, we could steal at intervals a few hundred yards of trenches from the enemy.

The Mediterranean Expeditionary Force, according to its first conception, was now complete. The British troops had been organized into the Eighth Corps, under Lieutenant-General Hunter-Weston. The constituents were the regular 29th Division of glorious memory, in the command of which General Hunter-Weston had been succeeded by General De Lisle, formerly commanding the 1st Cavalry Division on the Western front; the 42nd Territorial Division (East Lancashire), under Major-General Douglas; the Naval Division, under Major-General Paris; the 29th Indian Infantry Brigade, under Major-General H. B. Cox; and the Scottish Lowland Territorial Division, under Major-General Egerton. The Australian and New Zealand Corps at Gaba Tepe, under Lieutenant-General Sir W. R. Birdwood, embraced the Australian Division, under Major-General H. B. Walker, who had succeeded to the command after the death of General Bridges on 15th May, and the New Zealand and Australian Division, under Major-General Sir A. J. Godley. The French Corps Expéditionnaire had been completed in the second week of May by the arrival of its 2nd Division. Its troops—Zouaves, Senegalese, Colonial Infantry, and the Foreign Legion—were under General Gouraud, who succeeded General d’Amade on 14th May. General Gouraud, the youngest and the most brilliant of French corps commanders, had earned the name of the “Lion of the Argonne” from his winter’s work in that forest campaign with a corps of Sarrail’s 3rd Army. In Sir Ian Hamilton’s phrase, “a happy mixture of daring in danger and of calm in crisis” made him an ideal leader for the French Colonials. No one who ever met General Gouraud was likely to forget him. His grave and splendid presence, the fire in his dark eyes, the lofty resolution in every line and gesture, gave him the air of some great paladin of France who had held the marches with Roland and Oliver.

Our narrative of the campaign broke off afterJune 4. the battle of 4th June. On that day we had advanced in the centre from 200 to 400 yards on a front of three miles. Our left wing had moved only a little way forward, and the French on the extreme right were still held up by the ravine of the Kereves Dere. Our front was now in the form of a semicircle, with the horns flung well back, and our next business was to straighten our line. The time for bold and sweeping efforts had gone by. There had been a moment on 28th April when Krithia and the Achi Baba heights had been almost at our mercy; but, as the Turkish defence consolidated itself, all that remained for us was a slow war of “nibbling” and attrition. Surprise was out of the question. In Sir Ian Hamilton’s words: “The enemy was as much in possession of my numbers and dispositions as I was in possession of their first line of defence; the opposing fortified fronts stretched parallel from sea to straits; there was little space left now, either at Achi Baba or at Gaba Tepe, for tactics which would fling flesh and blood battalions against lines of unbroken barbed wire. Advance must more and more tend to take the shape of concentrated attacks on small sections of the enemy’s line after full artillery preparation. Siege warfare was soon bound to supersede manœuvre battles in the open. Consolidation and fortification of our front, improvement of approaches, selection of machine-gun emplacements, and scientific grouping of our artillery under a centralized control must erelong form the tactical basis of our plans.” These words were written of the situation after 11th May, but they applied with equal force to the position on 5th June.

During the first fortnight of June there wereJune 5-16. frequent Turkish attacks, directed to regain the trenches lost on the 4th. The French on the south side of the Kereves Dere were slowly working from point to point among the entrenched gullies and redoubts, and many fine deeds of small volunteer parties were recorded. On 5th June Second-Lieutenant Dallas Moor, of the 3rd Hampshires, won the Victoria Cross for his gallant rallying of a detachment which broke for a moment under a Turkish assault. On the night of the 11th, on our left centre, a local advance was made by the 1st Border Regiment and the 2nd South Wales Borderers from the 29th Division, and two trenches were won. On the 16th the Turks attacked the section held by the 88th Brigade, and that night the trenches gained on the 11th were so heavily bombed that we were forced to fall back thirty yards and dig ourselves in. The Turkish position, however, was a salient which we could enfilade, and at dawn the 1st Dublin Fusiliers won back the trenches with the bayonet and filled them with the enemy’s dead.

Our centre, especially on its left, formed anJune 18. awkward salient, and till the wings could be brought forward, this was a point of danger. On the 18th the Turks made a resolute attempt to drive us back. They began with a heavy bombardment after the approved pattern, and thereafter massed their infantry as if for an attack. Something restrained them; but on the evening of the following day they carried the point of the salient, and we were hard put to recover it. The 5th Royal Scots—Territorials from the Lothians—under Lieutenant-Colonel Wilson, assisted by a company of the 4th Worcesters, managed by a brilliant charge to drive out the Turks and clear the ground. The Scots Territorials had already distinguished themselves in the action of 1st May, and formed not the least doughty battalion of the immortal 29th Division.

On 21st June a beginning was made with theJune 21. straightening of the Allied front. The most critical position was that of the French corps on the right, which was still held up south of the Kereves Dere. At 1.30 in the morning a great bombardment began. All the south-eastern shoulder of Achi Baba was plastered with heavy shells, and the 75-mm. field guns played incessantly on the slopes of the ravine. Then came the infantry rush. The 2nd French Division on the left, under General Bailloud, made good progress. By midday it had captured the first two lines of the Turkish position, and taken the much-contested Haricot Redoubt, with its tangle of wire and deep-cut trenches and machine-gun fortins. They were across the ravine, when they found that their right flank was in the air. For General Simonin’s 1st Division, between them and the Straits, though it had kept line in its first onslaught, had been driven back by counter-attacks. Twice the division advanced, and twice it was compelled to retire. At a quarter to three in the afternoon there was some risk that all the gains of the 2nd Division would be lost. General Gouraud accordingly issued the order that in the five hours of daylight that remained the right of the advance must at all costs succeed. British artillery was brought up, and every gun that could be massed poured shells on the Turkish lines, while the St. Louis in the Straits kept the Asiatic batteries quiet. At six o’clock the last assault was delivered, and the position carried. Turkish reinforcements coming up were spotted by an aeroplane, caught by the 75’s in the open, and destroyed. By nightfall the French had won 600 yards of Turkish trenches, and the whole Allied right wing was well beyond the Kereves ravine. The French losses were 2,500; those of the Turks at least 7,000, including fifty prisoners. Sir Ian Hamilton reported that the striplings of the latest French drafts had especially distinguished themselves by their dash and contempt of danger. The enemy fought with superb courage and resolution, and French officers who had campaigned in the West declared that as a fighting man the Turk was worth two Germans.

Attacks on the Krithia-Achi Baba Position, June 21 and 28.

A distinguished writer,^[1] who was present at the action, has given us a vivid picture of that great bombardment: “The dawn had been clear, but soon a curtain of silver, through which gleamed the ghost of the rising sun, hung over the Kereves Dere. This was the smoke of bursting shells. Slowly as the sun climbed up, the curtain became more substantial. Then it seemed to droop and sweep along the hollows like a vanishing mist of dawn, and during a respite the thin blue smoke of the bivouac fires came tranquilly up into the still air. The respite was very brief, and the bombardment began again with greater fierceness than before. The 75’s drummed unceasingly. The reverberation of the 125’s and of the howitzers shook the observation post. Over the Kereves Dere, and beyond up the sloping shoulders of Achi Baba, the curtain became a pall. The sun climbed higher and higher. All that first mirage of beauty had disappeared, and there was nothing but the monstrous shapes of bursting shells, giants of smoke that appeared one after another along the Turkish lines. . . . The smoke of the shells, which at dawn had been ethereal, almost translucent, was now, in the sunset, turbid and sinister; yet the sunset was very splendid, flaming in crimson streamers over Imbros, tinting the East with rosy reflections, and turning the peaks of Asia to sapphires. It had a peculiar significance on this longest day of the year, crowning as it did those five precious hours of daylight that, for the French, had been fraught with such achievement. Slowly the colour faded out, and now, minute by minute, the flashes of the guns became more distinct, the smoke was merged in the gathering dusk, and away over the more distant Turkish lines the bursts of shrapnel came out like stars against the brief twilight. One knew the anxiety there would be in the darkness that now was falling upon this 21st of June, but in the morning we heard gladly that the enemy’s counter-attacks had failed, and that our Allies were indeed firmly established.”

The right wing having advanced, it remained to bring on the left. That left ran from the Krithia road, crossed the ravine called the Saghir Dere, about half-way between its head and its mouth, and rested on the high ground above the Gulf of Saros. The Saghir Dere was one of those desolate and arid water-courses common in Gallipoli and on the Anatolian coast. At the sea end its sides were 200 feet high, clothed for the most part with a light scrub, but with open patches of yellow clay. A small stream, generally dry, trickled down it, and there were a few springs. Towards its head it grew shallower, and finally died away in the Krithia plateau. The north end was held strongly by the Turks, who had entrenched themselves on the top of the banks on both sides, and had fortified a small redoubt, which we called the Boomerang Fort, in front of their position.

The Allied plan was to pivot upon a point in our front about a mile from the sea, and to swing forward our left wing until its outer rim had advanced 1,000 yards. This meant that the distance to be covered decreased as the pivoting point was neared. The extreme left had to carry five Turkish trenches, the left centre no more than two. The forces to whom the task was entrusted were, from right to left, the 156th Brigade of the Scottish Lowland Territorial Division, the 29th Division, and the 29th Indian Brigade. The movement was in the charge of General Hunter-Weston.

On the morning of 28th June the wind blewJune 28. steadily from the west. At 9 a.m. the bombardment began with high explosive shells, and columns of dust hid Achi Baba. The French lent some of their big trench mortars, and the cruiser Talbot and the destroyers Wolverine and Scorpion from the sea enfiladed the trenches of the Turkish right. Our field guns, firing shrapnel, succeeded effectually in cutting the enemy’s wire. At 10.20 the bombardment increased, every Allied piece firing in conjunction. At 10.45 our infantry leaped from the trenches. The 1st Border Regiment from the 87th Brigade carried the Boomerang works on the east side of the ravine with little opposition. The place was full of dead, and the survivors were dazed and blinded by our artillery. At 11 a.m. the gunners lengthened the range, and the rest of the 87th Brigade, under Major-General Marshall—the 1st K.O.S.B., 1st Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers, and 2nd South Wales Borderers—captured three lines of trenches between the ravine and the sea. East of the gully the left of the 156th Brigade—the 4th and 7th Royal Scots—made good progress, and took the two trench lines allotted to them. But their right nearer the pivoting point met with heavy opposition, and could make little ground.

At 11.30 the second attack was launched. The 86th Brigade, led by the 2nd Royal Fusiliers, passed through the 87th Brigade, and carried two farther lines of trenches, making up the required total of five. “This advance was a magnificent sight,” wrote a correspondent, “the men never wavering or losing their formations under a heavy artillery and rifle fire.” On the extreme left the Gurkhas from the 29th Indian Brigade, moving just above the shore, carried a green spur called the Knoll, which joined up the line from the farthest captured Turkish trench to the sea, while some companies of the 1st Lancashire Fusiliers completed the connection with the 86th Brigade. In an hour and a half we had done all we aimed at, except for a small section of trench near the pivoting point. That section was attacked again at 5.30 in the afternoon, but it proved impregnable. The British losses were moderate, some 1,750 in all, and most were incurred in the difficult point on the right of the 156th Brigade. We captured large quantities of rifles and many thousand rounds of ammunition—booty scarcely less valuable than prisoners. The action was admirably planned and conducted. Our artillery work had been perfect, and the path of the infantry was made plain.

The whole Saghir Dere was now in our hands, and our left wing, instead of facing north-east, now faced due east, and was less than a mile west of Krithia. The captured upper section of the ravine was a horrible place, half graveyard, half rubbish heap, for the Turks had no gift of cleanliness. “All the way up,” wrote a correspondent, “there is a litter of débris of the camp and the great fight—scattered bodies half-protruding from the ground, hastily-dug graves, hundreds of rifles and bayonets, some broken but the majority intact, thousands upon thousands of rounds of ammunition . . . entrenching tools, loaves of bread, soldiers’ packs, Turkish letters, a Mullah’s prayer stool (a souvenir eagerly sought after), greatcoats and kits, blankets and old socks, cooking utensils and firewood, left just where the enemy abandoned them, when our gallant infantry broke through at the bayonet’s point. Great fires are burning at intervals. They are avoided by all, and give forth a horrid, sickly stench. On these the Turkish dead, who have been hastily collected, are being burnt, for it is all important to get the dead out of the way as quickly as possible in this hot climate.” Add to this a baking sun, air shimmering with heat, some stagnant pools of green water, an indescribable smell of decaying refuse, and everywhere swarms of flies, and the picture is complete.

The Turkish counter-attacks of the afternoonJune 29-30. were repulsed, and the night of the 28th was fairly quiet. On the afternoon of the 29th we observed a moving of troops on the Turkish right, and during the evening there were mines exploded against our right centre, a good deal of firing, and an abortive bayonet attack on our left. At the same time there was much activity at Gaba Tepe. About midnight heavy rifle fire broke out, to which the Australian Corps replied with cheers. At 1.30 on the morning of the 30th a Turkish column advanced with bayonets and bombs against General Godley’s division. It never came to the shock, for it was completely broken by the musketry and machine-gun fire of the 7th and 8th Light Horse. By two o’clock the enemy were routed, and many fell in the withdrawal. On the Australian left they had come up against a well-concealed sap ahead of our main line, and the dead lay in swathes before it. At 3 a.m. they tried again. A small party came over the parapets in front of Quinn’s Post, and died to a man. The main threat against the left and left centre was similarly broken up by our rifle and gun fire.

There was fighting all round the peninsula on that last day of June. About two in the morning the searchlights of the Scorpion discovered the enemy advancing near the sea north-west of Krithia, and the ship drove them back by her fire. At the same time the Knoll due west of Krithia was attacked, the point which we had captured on the 28th. The Turks got within forty yards of the parapet, and then melted away under our guns. Several times during the night the enemy won a few yards of trenches by bomb attack, but these were regained by us with the bayonet in the morning. At 5.30 a.m. on 1st July, 2,000 Turks attempted to getJuly 1. from Krithia into the Saghir Dere, but were driven off by machine guns. At ten o’clock in the evening another bomb attack was delivered against the most northerly of the trenches which we had captured on the 28th. Of the results let Sir Ian Hamilton tell: “An officer of the Gurkhas being wounded—not dangerously, as it turned out—the men became infuriated, flung all their bombs at the enemy, and then, charging down out of the trench, used their kukris for the first time, and with excellent effect. About dawn the Turks once more attempted an attack on the open, but nearly the whole of their attacking forces, about half a battalion, were shot down; and a final bomb attack, though commenced, failed utterly.”

On the Allied right there was heavy fighting.June 29-30. On the night of the 29th the Turks attempted a surprise attack along the shore of the straits, but the movement was discovered by the searchlights of the Wolverine and brought to a standstill. The van of the attack was not stopped till it was some forty yards from our trenches. At 6.30 on the morning of the 30th the French moved forward, and in less than an hour had carried the fortified network known as the Quadrilateral, east of the head of the Kereves Dere. The Infanterie Coloniale carried seven lines of trenches, and their leading companies for a moment were in danger of being cut off. They held, however, to the ground they had won, and by the afternoon had beaten off all counter-attacks and consolidated their position. This advance, taken in conjunction with the advance of the Allied left on the 28th, straightened out the dangerous bulge in our front.

One serious loss marred the success of the day. General Gouraud was struck by shell splinters while visiting an ambulance on his return from congratulating his troops on their victory. The wound, which later involved the amputation of a leg, compelled him to return home and relinquish the command of the French Corps to General Bailloud.

These violent Turkish counter-attacks resulted in nothing but the needless loss of many brave men. General Liman von Sanders had instructed his troops to act strictly on the defensive, and not to attempt to recover lost ground. But Enver, arriving during the fight on the 28th, reversed the policy, and ordered counter-attacks along the whole front. He is believed to have used considerable reinforcements for the purpose, which disappeared under our fire. Sir Ian Hamilton estimated the Turkish losses during the five days following upon 28th June at 5,150 killed and 15,000 wounded, and these casualties produced no single gain. A captured order, issued by the Commander of the 11th Division, showed the disquiet felt by the Turkish Staff at the Allied gains, and their fear of demoralization among their men.

The July fighting was of the same nature as that of June, save that it did not reveal any large Allied movement, but was composed mainly of sporadic Turkish counter-attacks. What ground we won was on a level with the French gains in the Artois during June, when, after a heavy bombardment, a small advance would be made and consolidated at a great expense of life. We were now close up against the main strength of the Achi Baba fortress.

On 2nd July, after bombarding our advancedJuly 2-4. position on the left with high explosives and shrapnel, the enemy attempted an advance, but was repulsed by our musketry and the guns of the Scorpion. At seven in the evening the Turkish artillery began again, and two battalions emerged from the nullah beyond Krithia, and charged in two lines across the open. Our field batteries played havoc with them, and the arrival of Gurkha supports dispersed the attack with heavy losses. Next day it was obvious that the enemy were receiving reinforcements, which some put as high as 10,000 men. On the morning of 4th July a general attack on our whole position was undertaken. About 3 a.m. all the Allied front and hinterland was bombarded, a Turkish battleship moored between Maidos and Chanak assaulted the Australian lines at Gaba Tepe, and aeroplanes made an attempt to drop bombs at several points in our trenches. The cannonade did little harm, and died away about 6 a.m. The infantry attack came at 7.30, and was directed chiefly against our right centre, where the British Naval Division joined with the French. At the start the Turks gained a footing in our first trenches, but we drove them out by a counter-attack. Their advance on the right of the 29th Division was checked by our rifles and machine-gun fire, and that against our extreme left fared no better. Before noon the action had died away.

From the French report it would appear that the affair was no better than a costly fiasco. “Notwithstanding an ostentatious display of all sorts of reserves, of which the Turks had never yet given us an exhibition, their infantry attacks were lifeless, spasmodic, and ineffective. In front of the French left, and at very many points in front of the British line, the Ottoman infantry left their trenches and advanced, but nowhere with the valour and the ardour which they had manifested in previous engagements. The Allies awaited their assailants calmly, allowed them to approach, and then almost at point-blank range opened a murderous fire from rifles and machine guns. Very few survivors indeed were fortunate enough to return to their lines; the majority remained on the ground in front of our trenches. The hesitating attempts of the Turks had never for a single moment threatened any of our positions, and had resulted only in hecatombs in their ranks. Our losses were slight.”

On 12th July the Allies made a resolute attemptJuly 12. to advance their front and take the Krithia position. The first attack was made by the Allied right and right centre, the French Corps, and the Scottish Lowland Division. Our bombardment began at dawn, and thereafter our infantry carried the first two lines of Turkish trenches. The Scots Territorials reached a third line; but they could not hold it, for they lost touch with the French on their right. The bombardment continued all day, and at 4 p.m. a special cannonade was delivered on the enemy positions in the upper ravines of the Kereves Dere, where they run into the face of Achi Baba. On the right, overlooking a ravine, the Turks had a great rectangular redoubt, bristling with machine guns. At five our guns lengthened and attacked the ground where the Turkish reserves might be looked for, while a warship bombarded the observation station on the top of Achi Baba with 12-inch shells. Then the Scots surged forward against the redoubt. “The ground,” wrote an observer, “resembled a gigantic steaming cauldron, into whose thick vapours the gallant brigade poured without once hesitating or looking back.” The redoubt, owing to the preliminary bombardment, was carried easily with the bayonet. The second line was taken, after some confused fighting, and by nightfall 400 yards of ground had been gained.

The night was thick with counter-attacks. TheJuly 13. Turks came on repeatedly with bombs, and the British right centre, which had advanced too far, was forced to evacuate two lines of trenches. At dawn the two wearied Scots brigades were withdrawn, and their place taken by the Naval Division. All day our artillery fire played on the battered trenches, and at 4.30 in the afternoon our right centre succeeded in retaking the two trenches lost on the previous night. There we stuck fast; but our left, which now came into action, had an easier road, and advanced our front considerably. The French on the extreme right had strengthened the line by extending their positions to the mouth of the Kereves Dere. During the night of the 13th there were severe counter-attacks, in the face of which the Allies succeeded in maintaining the ground they had won. It was a considerable advance, which brought us very near to Krithia. But the heights of Achi Baba were as far off as ever.

The rest of the month saw the inevitable TurkishJuly 21-28. counter-attacks, and small local improvements of the Allied line. Both the British and French sections were raided on the 18th. On the 21st a small Turkish redoubt was captured. On the 23rd there was an attack on our left which was repulsed after a twenty minutes’ struggle. On the 28th there was a slight advance by the French right. The day of concerted frontal attacks was over, and the mind of the High Command was busied with a new plan.

While we were battling against the outer walls of the Turkish fortifications we did not neglect the duty of striking at the routes of supply. The work of our submarines in the Marmora continued, and there is no question but that we hampered and occasionally held up both munitions and reinforcements. At the same time the complete closing of the Marmora, even had we accomplished it, would not have cut Turkish communications, as was too readily assumed in some quarters at the time. A brief examination of Turkey’s transport problem is necessary for a proper understanding of the situation.

Turkey had three possible passages to her Gallipoli position. She could send troops and supplies by sea all the way from Constantinople to the ports of Maidos and Gallipoli. She could send them by rail through Thrace to Uzun Keupru, whence a fair military road would carry them to the peninsula by way of Bulair. For troops the distance from railhead was perhaps forty-eight hours’ march; for heavy transport, by means of oxen and buffalo carts, it would mean a journey of some five days. At Bulair, it is true, the road was open to our naval guns; but in dry weather the wagons could leave the path and find a more sheltered cross-country route. Finally, troops and supplies could travel by the Anatolian and Ottoman railways viâ Smyrna and Soma to the port of Panderma, in the south-western half of the Marmora. Most of the reinforcements came from Syria and Anatolia; and they naturally used the Panderma line, embarking at that port for the short sea journey to Gallipoli in the Bosphorus passenger steamers which were used as transports. Heavy material, such as shells and guns, either used the through sea route from Constantinople or were railed down to Smyrna and back to Panderma.

Lines of Supply of the Turkish Army in Gallipoli.

Our submarines made the Marmora road nearly impossible. They also interfered gravely with the short sea voyage from Panderma to the peninsula. Turkey was accordingly flung back more and more upon her land routes—by rail to Uzun Keupru and thence to Bulair, and by rail to Panderma and thence by road to the port of Lapsaki, on the Dardanelles, opposite Galata. This was a real inconvenience, but it was by no means an insuperable difficulty. Since most of the fresh troops came from Asia, Panderma was the natural point of arrival, and the farther road to Lapsaki was easy. Nor was the route so bad for shells and heavy material which came from Constantinople, for a good railway system took them to Smyrna, and the railway journey from Smyrna to Panderma occupied no more than nine hours, while there was the Uzun Keupru-Bulair road as an alternative. Our submarine warfare, brilliant as it was, hampered and delayed, but it did not cut, or perhaps seriously cripple, the communications of the Turkish fortress.

How audacious and devoted the warfare was mayAug. 21. be gathered from the exploit of Lieutenant Guy D’Oyly-Hughes, R.N., who on 21st August made a single-handed attempt to cut the first section of the Anatolian railway which runs along the northern shore of the Gulf of Ismed, at the eastern end of the Marmora. He swam ashore from a submarine, pushing a raft carrying his clothes and explosives. Finding the cliffs unclimbable, he had to prospect along the coast till he found a point which could be scaled. He then moved towards the railway line, but discovered that it was strongly guarded. At first his idea was to destroy the viaduct; but finding this impossible, he resolved to blow up a low brickwork support over a small hollow. The sound of the fuse pistol brought up the guards, and Lieutenant D’Oyly-Hughes had to retire, fighting a running fight for about a mile. From this point we may quote the official account:—

“He plunged into the water about three-quarters of a mile to the eastward of the small bay in which the boat was lying. The charge exploded as he entered the water, fragments falling into the sea near the boat, although the distance between the boat and the charge was between a quarter and half a mile. After swimming for four or five hundred yards straight out to sea, he blew a long blast on his whistle; but the boat, being in a small bay behind the cliffs, did not hear it.

“Day was breaking very rapidly, so after swimming back to the shore, and resting for a short time on the rocks, he commenced swimming towards the bay in which the boat was lying. At this point he discarded his pistol, bayonet, and electric torch, their weight making his progress very slow. It was not until he had rounded the last point that the whistle was heard, and at the same time he heard shots from the cliffs overhead, and rifle fire was opened on the boat.

“As the boat came astern out of the bay the early morning mist made her appear to him to be three rowing boats—the bow, the gun, and the conning tower being the three objects actually seen. He swam ashore, and tried to hide under the cliffs; but on climbing a few feet out of the water he realized his mistake, and shouted again before entering the water. We picked him up in an extremely exhausted condition about forty yards from the rocks, after he had swum the best part of a mile in his clothes.”^[2]

The work of the Navy was not confined to below the water. In Sir Ian Hamilton’s phrase, the Fleet was father and mother to the Army on land. The appearance of German submarines in the middle of May compelled us to keep our large transports at Mudros. From Lemnos to the peninsula was forty miles, and all troops and stores had to be brought in fleet sweepers, trawlers, drifters, and other small craft which were least vulnerable to submarine attack. Apart from the good work done by the naval guns in the land battle, the mere transport services of the ships could not be overstated. Take the work of the picket boats, the steam pinnaces which towed the laden lighters to the beaches. Their crews were often at work for sixteen hours out of the twenty-four, and were constantly under fire. Mr. Ashmead-Bartlett has drawn an interesting picture of this strenuous and well-ordered activity.

“The line of demarcation between the authority of the Army and of the Navy is strictly drawn. As long as a soldier, a horse, a gun, or a biscuit is in a ship or in a lighter on its way to the shore, all are under the control of our beach parties. Standing on one of the piers in the sweltering heat of the last few days, with the beach behind him crammed with men, stores, and animals, a young officer, with a megaphone in his hand, shouts orders to a dozen different lighters, each towed by a steam pinnace, in the offing. One contains mules, another guns, a third biscuits, a fourth tinned meat, a fifth ammunition, a sixth troops, a seventh generals and staff officers. Every one is directed to its right destination as if by some enchanter’s wand, and no one dares to step ashore until he has received his orders. At the end of the pier the naval authority ceases and that of the army begins. Here are Army Service Corps officers, who are waiting to seize what the Navy has brought them. The thousand miscellaneous articles, which look as if they never could be sorted out, are speedily divided, checked, and sent on their way down the lines of communication to the troops in the front trenches. The whole is a marvel of organization.”

Splendid, too, was the work of the Allied airmen, who fulfilled the duties of long-range artillery. Turkish camps far back on the peninsula, or on the southern shore of the Marmora, were bombarded from the heavens. The Narrows and both sides of the Straits were always under their surveillance. They regulated the range of our guns, and they detected the movements of the enemy’s transports and battleships. The Turk is a stolid and most courageous fighter, but he did not like the menace from the sky, which came suddenly upon him like the destroying wings of Azrael. It is probable that this risk had a more sinister effect upon his spirits than the shells and cold steel of the Achi Baba battles.

The discomforts of the life in the peninsula grew as the summer advanced and the heat waxed greater. The whole of our position was honeycombed with trenches and dug-outs like a colony of sand-martins in the bank of a river. There was no shade from nature, for the copses were only scrub. The sun beat down pitilessly on the acres of rock and gravel, and was reflected from the blue waters around. Our men were very close together, and the whole earth soon became tainted in spite of all our care. Sunstroke cases were few, for the sun of Gallipoli is not the sun of India; but fevers and dysentery began to take their toll. The scarcity of water, the difficult journeys for the sick down communication trenches and cliff roads, and the long voyage before hospital was reached, intensified our discomfort. And everywhere fell a plague of flies. Men who had fought in South Africa remembered the curse of the fly on the veld, but the South African scourge was feeble compared to the clouds which hung over the baked peninsula. Remember there was no movement or chance of movement. The troops had to sit still in their stifling trenches, and every acre of that butt-end of Gallipoli was searched by the enemy’s fire.

Under such conditions—no movement, grave losses, grave discomforts—it was a marvel that we maintained so high a spirit and so steady a cheerfulness. Men returned to the habits of their first parents. Khaki “shorts,” a shirt, and a sun-helmet formed the only wear of even exalted generals. The Australians and New Zealanders especially, perched in their eyrie at Gaba Tepe, showed a noble disregard of apparel. These troops, embracing in their ranks every class and condition, had shown themselves superb fighting men. There was a perpetual competition for the posts of danger, and money was offered freely for the right to a place in some hot corner. Their easy discipline knew none of the usual military conventions; but it was real enough, and got through the work required. There were endless tales of their keenness. “The other day a group of four millionaires were working at a mine-shaft. The task was not done when another regiment came to relieve the one to which they belonged. These four men refused to go with their battalion till they had finished the job, as they wished it to be known as their job and no one else’s.” They probably represented the finest average of physique in any of the belligerent armies—those lean, great-limbed men, without an ounce of soft flesh on their bodies. In the midsummer heats they were burned to a dull brick-red, for they fought almost naked. Coats, shirts, boots, and putties disappeared in succession, their trousers shrank into “shorts,” as they toiled in the dust of the trenches till the hour of relief came, and they could wash in the shrapnel-dotted Ægean. The oversea nations of the Empire had won great honour—the South Africans among the deserts of German territory, the Canadians in the sickly meadows of the Ypres Salient. Not less glorious was the record of the Australians in a land as sunburnt as their own.

Humour never fails the British soldier. He showed it in the fantastic names he gave to the various points within his survey, and in the noticeboards in the trenches, like that which read, “Casualty Corner. Do not pass this Board, but if you have to, for God’s sake hustle.” There were trench newspapers, which contained as much authentic news as the journals at home. And in those days of heart-searching they found out the officers who were leaders of men, and gave them their undivided trust. General Birdwood, of the Anzac Corps, to take one conspicuous case, was a commander after the heart of his soldiers.

The three summer months had been among the most costly in our military history. Out of some six British divisions we had lost by the end of May over 38,000. By the end of June the total was over 42,000; by the end of July it was nearly 50,000, of whom 8,000 were killed, 30,000 wounded, and 11,000 missing. The French losses were on a similar scale, and the naval losses must be added to the total casualties of the expedition. All our divisions had suffered, and, to the people of the Scottish Lowlands especially, the word Dardanelles came to bear the fateful meaning which Flodden bore for their ancestors. The results gained were not proportionate to this huge wastage. But not even at Ypres had our troops shown a more dauntless courage, a more complete devotion, or a more stubborn resolution.^[3] No kind of warfare involves a sterner trial for the human spirit than the slow sapping towards a fortress, when there is no obvious advance, no chance of the swift excitement of a manœuvre battle. We may take the 29th Division as a type of the others. Sir Ian Hamilton’s words of praise, addressed to it after the battle of 28th June, were applicable to the whole British army:—

Not less splendid was the performance of the French Corps. Under d’Amade and Gouraud the newest recruits had fought like heroes, and had shown the Turks that furia francese which centuries before had carried the walls of Jerusalem. “Shall not thou and I,” said King Harry in the play to the Princess Katharine, “between St. Denis and St. George, compound a boy half-French, half-English, that shall go to Constantinople and take the Turk by the beard?” The first half of Shakespeare’s prophecy had come true. Saint Denis and Saint George fought in unison, but the beard of the Soldan was still unplucked.

In this rivalry of gallant men the enemy was not outdone. The Turks fought with all their old patient steadfastness. They advanced to hopeless assaults, and died in hundreds in the open; they clung to ruined trenches when the Allied steel was upon them; but the stolid Anatolian peasants did not waver. The prisoners we took showed no anger against Britain, save in the matter of our tactless confiscation of their battleships, which had been laboriously provided by the contributions of the humblest. To them the war was Kismet, and they obeyed orders uncomplainingly. They were humane adversaries, too. The conflict was stained by no atrocities, but brightened by many deeds of chivalry. A wounded soldier, who had already fought on the Western front, after expounding the hardships of the Dardanelles campaign, added: “There’s one comfort there. You’re fighting against white men.” It was a fine tribute to the former allies of Britain.

By the end of July the complete stalemate had compelled the High Command to revise its strategy. A certain daring Englishman, who knew Turkey well, contrived to be taken blindfold one night into the enemy’s trenches, and for several hours talked to the Turkish officers. He was told on parting: “Some day you may take Constantinople, but Achi Baba—never.” This was rapidly becoming the view of those responsible for the expedition. Large reinforcements had been asked for, and during July were arriving at Egypt and Lemnos. To fling these into the congested butt of the peninsula was clearly folly. A new strategical plan was being devised, which should utilize them against a fresh objective. As we shall see later, the peninsula still dominated the minds of those responsible for our policy. That is the worst of a false step. It is hard to retrace, and, though the road may be shifted a point or two, it still tends to bear in the same direction.

Meanwhile during these summer months strange things were happening in the Balkan States. Underground forces were at work, which were shortly to give birth to events that staggered the otiose souls who had let that old storm-centre of Europe slip from their minds. To understand the situation now developing, it is necessary to glance for a little at the tangled labyrinth of Balkan politics.

THE BALKAN LABYRINTH.

In the present chapter we can only attempt a sketch of the main features of that Balkan problem which for nearly a century had perplexed the statesmen of Europe. It was the land of surprises, where nationalities had no recognized boundaries. It lacked the contours of modern civilization, that which elsewhere was moulded to use being there left sharp and ragged. On the outbreak of the great war the peninsula was at first dismissed as negligible, and its recent struggles regarded as no more than the quarrels of kites and crows. But as the tide of the campaign moved eastwards, as the guns sounded in the Ægean and Russia fell back from Poland, men woke with a start to the importance which those barren hills might bear in the later stages of the contest. That importance Germany had not forgotten while the Allies slumbered. To understand it, we must consider the determining factors in the labyrinthine Balkan politics.

The immediate strategic significance of the peninsula was obvious. Serbia, Bulgaria, and Rumania stood between the Teutonic League and its Turkish ally. While the two latter remained neutral it could not easily munition or reinforce the armies holding the gate of Constantinople. Should either or both take up arms against it, there was a possibility of a flank attack on the exposed Teutonic right flank or an addition to the fighting strength of the Allies in Gallipoli which might overbear Turkish resistance. The Balkan races were for the most part military peoples—those hard-bitten upland dwellers who, from the beginning of time, have made good soldiers. Accustomed to hardships, they could fight with a slender commissariat, and they had the bravery of those not accustomed to overvalue human life. If united, they could put into the field an army equivalent to that of a first-class Power, and, even without Serbia, their fighting strength stood at a million bayonets.

Again, the Balkans were a fine field for diplomatic activity, for they represented the incalculable. Each state was still in a fluid condition. Each looked to extend its borders, for each owned many “nationals” outside its territorial limits. The Serb race was widely spread over Bosnia and Herzegovina and Austria-Hungary; there were Bulgarians in Rumania, and the partition of Macedonia by the Treaty of Bucharest did not correspond to nationalities. Each state had, therefore, its Alsace-Lorraine to which it turned jealous eyes. Moreover, while each state had nominally a constitutional government and believed itself a democracy, each, owing to the comparatively recent date of its emancipation from Turkish bondage, was liable to the rule of a camarilla, an army, or a dynasty. Excepting Serbia and Montenegro, all had alien royal houses. Rumania had a Catholic Hohenzollern on the throne, Bulgaria a Coburg, Greece a prince of the House of Schleswig-Holstein. History has shown that such conditions offer a unique chance for tortuous diplomacy.

To understand the Balkan situation a short survey is necessary of the topography and the history of the peninsula. It is a knot of mountains, with no great valleys and no natural geographical centre round which settled and civilized conditions of life could gather. Its peoples owe their nationalities primarily to race and historical accidents, rather than to geographical compulsion such as destined Britain and Italy to be nations. They were for long refugees in the uplands, and as mountain dwellers they continued to look down upon the plains of Thrace and Hungary. But the country was not a barrier but a thoroughfare, for through it lay the road from Central Europe to the Ægean and Constantinople. It was the nature of these alleys of traffic which determined the development of the Balkan States so soon as their independence was secured.

The old Roman roads are the best guide to the natural possibilities of movement. The greatest, the Via Egnatia, ran from Durazzo on the Adriatic by Monastir and Salonika to Constantinople. Another ran from Belgrade by Nish and Sofia to the Bosphorus; a third from Scutari to Nish, and on to the Danube; a fourth from Monastir to the Danube by way of Sofia; a fifth from Salonika by Uskub and Novi Bazar to Serajevo. Looked at geographically, there are two great gaps in this mountain system. One lies between the main Balkan and the Rhodope ranges, to-day the route of the trunk railway from the West to Constantinople. The second is the gap of Macedonia, a much-encumbered gap, but nevertheless a true alley between the Rhodope and the Western Mountains, through which by way of the Vardar, Ibar, and Western Morava valleys a way could be found to the Save and the Upper Danube. Of the alley, Kavala is now the eastern gate, as Philippi was in ancient days. It is this alley-country, Macedonia, which has been littered with fragments of all the Balkan races, and which throughout history has been the storm-centre of the Balkans. “In this narrow belt, bounded westwards by the cruel karst hills, eastwards by the wooded, pasture-bearing central uplands, open widely at both ends, all but blocked at the sides—within this belt is concentrated most of the drama and most of the tragedy of the peninsula. Whether we think of the wistful Serb, with memories of past glories; the Bulgar, looking down from his upland boundary to his compatriots in the storm-swept plains below; the Greek, with his trader’s instinct, pushing inland from the seaports of the coast; the Albanian, sweeping down from his mountains in brigand’s raid, or creeping onward in peaceful agricultural penetration; or, again, of Teuton and Hungarian in the north; of Italian, watching the gaps of the Coastal Mountains; of the cynical Turk, still finding peasants to work for him in the midst of the pervading tumult—with whatever party our interests and our sympathies lie, we have to remember that here, in this alley-way, which we, quite inappropriately, still call Macedonia, in this gap between western mountains and central land mass, lies the key to the history of the whole peninsula.”^[1]

Such a geographical position had decisive effects on the ambitions of the several states. Greece, with a population of seafarers and coast-dwellers, stood outside the main problem. Her natural extension was towards the islands of the Ægean and the coast of Asia Minor. Bulgaria, stretching out to the sea, looked naturally southwards. Her two main rivers, the Maritza and the Struma, flowed to the Ægean, and national expansion tends to follow the river valleys. Her small Black Sea coast-line was insufficient; the Marmora was blocked by Turkey; and at their best, Black Sea and Marmora were not open to the world like the Ægean. Serbia, too, looked southwards. She was land-locked, and had no outlet for her commerce save through the lands of strictly protectionist neighbours. Her natural road was to Salonika, but if this failed she had an alternative. A route to the Adriatic was possible, which should debouch, like the Via Egnatia, at Durazzo, on the flats of coastal Albania. Such an outlet, while more difficult than that to the Ægean, offered greater advantages, for it brought the markets of Southern and Western Europe within easier reach.

Macedonia therefore, both its coast and its hinterland, was certain sooner or later to become an acute problem for Serbia and Bulgaria, and in a lesser degree for Greece, and this purely on geographical grounds. It represented for the upland principalities the simplest path to the sea. If Serbia sought the Ægean she must have south-east Macedonia; if the Adriatic, she must control the northern districts. For Bulgaria to reach the Ægean meant the possession of eastern Macedonia, since the inhospitable Thracian coast offered no good harbours. Moreover, to both Serb and Bulgar Macedonia was irredenta in the full meaning of the Italian term. There, under foreign rule, dwelt many thousands of the compatriots and co-religionists of both. An alley-way full of unemancipated kinsmen, which to both states was the pivot upon which their racial ambitions moved, meant, so soon as they attained national stability, a contest first with Turkey and then, in all likelihood, with each other. The configuration of the earth’s surface has been the ultimate cause of most of the quarrels of mankind.

The Balkan Rails and Frontiers.

If Balkan geography determined the general character of the problems, Balkan history had decided the special form in which they were presented to the modern world. “History,” in M. Sorel’s famous phrase, “never stops short.” The fruits of forgotten deeds remain as a living legacy for the future. Under the Roman Empire the peninsula had become latinized and settled, and great trunk roads led from the Illyrian coast to the trans-Danube territories and the shores of the Bosphorus. But in the fourth and fifth centuries after Christ the Slavs swept down from the north, and absorbed the ancient Greek, Thracian, and Illyrian races, or drove them into the hills or the islands of the Ægean. At the close of the seventh century the Bulgars appeared, a Turanian race akin to the Finns whose home was the country between the Urals and the Volga. Then followed fleeting Bulgarian empires, when the horse-tail standards reached the gates of Byzantium. In the fourteenth century the Serbs rose to power, and for a short time dominated the peninsula. Then came the Turks. The Bulgarians fell before the conquerors in 1366, and in 1389 the1389. Serbians were vanquished at Kossovo—that fatal “Field of Blackbirds,” in memory of which a black patch is still worn in the caps of the Montenegrins. Constantinople was taken in 1453, and with the defeat1453. of the Albanians under Skanderbeg in 1466 the peninsula was in Ottoman hands.1466.

For three hundred and fifty years their dominion was unshaken. The armies of the Crescent used the Balkans as the thoroughfare along which they marched to their campaigns on the plains of Hungary. The conquered peoples lived in their little villages in the hills, and had no traffic with the conqueror. The Turk did not try to assimilate his subject races; he was too proud and too indolent to proselytize on a serious scale, and he left them their language, religion, and customs with an easy toleration. Accordingly, when his rule grew feeble, there was a nucleus of nationality left to reassert itself. Greece, with the aid of France, Russia, and Britain, became independent in 1829. Serbia, under1804-1829. the first Karageorge, raised the standard of revolt in 1804, and by 1820 had won a spectral autonomy as a tributary state. The Danubian principalities of Moldavia and Wallachia had long had an uneasy separate life, and by 1859 they had become united under1859-1877. the name of Rumania. Bulgaria alone remained in complete subjection till 1876, when a rising broke out which was put down by Turkey with the barbarities which Western Europe came to know as the “Bulgarian atrocities.” That event, and the previous declaration of war against Turkey by Serbia, led to Russia’s participation in the struggle, and the outbreak of the Russo-Turkish War in April 1877.

In that war the Bulgarian contingent fought gallantly1878. with Gourko in the Balkans, and the Rumanians, under Prince Charles, contributed much to the success of Russian arms. On the 3rd of March 1878, when Russia was approaching Constantinople, the Treaty of San Stefano was signed, under which Rumania was to surrender to Russia her portion of Bessarabia, and receive in return the Dobrudja territory, south of the mouth of the Danube. Bulgaria was constituted an autonomous state, with boundaries which fulfilled her wildest dreams, and which included every detached fragment of the Bulgarian race and something more. Her borders ran from the Black Sea to the Albanian hills, and from the Danube to the Ægean, and included the port of Kavala on the Ægean and most of Macedonia. This arrangement was not allowed to stand, since the Powers of Europe suspected that the new state would become a Russian dependency. By the Treaty of Berlin, signed on 13th July of that year, Bulgaria was given only the land between the Balkan range and the Danube, and the country south of the Balkans was created into the autonomous province of Eastern Rumelia. Serbia was given Nish, and Greece Thessaly; Bessarabia went to Russia; Rumania retained the Dobrudja; and Bosnia and Herzegovina were put under Austrian administration. Turkey was left with Macedonia, Albania, and Thrace on the continent of Europe, though she remained the suzerain of Bulgaria, Eastern Rumelia, Bosnia, and Herzegovina.

The modern history of the Balkans dates from1879-1886. the Treaty of Berlin. It is not an edifying record, being concerned chiefly with the quarrels of the separate states, and their indecision as to which of the Great Powers might most profitably be cultivated. The chief international importance is to be found in the record of Bulgaria. In 1879 the Assembly of the young state elected as sovereign Prince Alexander of Battenberg, who identified himself completely with Bulgarian national aspirations. In defiance of the Powers, he brought about a union with Eastern Rumelia in 1885. This led to a quarrel with Russia, and the withdrawal of all Russian officers from the Bulgarian army. Serbia chose the moment to declare war, but was decisively defeated by Prince Alexander at Slivnitza on 19th November. Russia attempted to abduct the Prince; but a counter-revolution, organized by Stambolov, the President of the Assembly, restored him. Unfortunately he now made a false move by offering to resign his crown into Russian hands, and was compelled to abdicate and leave the country on September 8, 1886.

In 1887 Prince Ferdinand of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha1887. was elected to the vacant throne; and the history of the following twenty years was made up of the rivalries of the Russian party and the anti-Russians, who adhered to the policy of Stambolov and attempted to reach an understanding with Turkey. War with the Porte was brought very near at times by Turkish barbarities among the Bulgarian population of Macedonia—barbarities which no doubt occurred, but which were at least equalled by the doings of the komitadjis. In 1908 the Austrian1908. annexation of Bosnia and Herzegovina inspired Prince Ferdinand to declare Bulgaria an independent kingdom. The matter was settled by the payment of an indemnity, for which Russia advanced the funds.

This brings us to the eve of the Balkan Wars, and we may summarize the situation thus. Bulgaria owed gratitude to Russia for her action in 1877 and 1908, and as the consistent protector of Slav nationalities; but the Stambolovists had a grudge against her for her treatment of Prince Alexander, and were inclined to look rather to Austria as a patron. Serbia had a general reliance on Russia, and had many scores to settle with Austria, partly on account of her treatment of the Southern Slavs under her sway, partly because of the Bosnian annexation, and partly because of old tariff wars as to the passage of Serbian live-stock beyond the borders. Rumania had a grudge against Russia because of Bessarabia, and a grudge against Austria because of the Rumanian districts of Transylvania. Greece had little love for Russia because of the Russian hankerings for Constantinople. All four Powers, too, were deeply suspicious of the Austro-German Drang nach Osten, the covetous eye cast on the shores of the Ægean and the road thither, which might put an end to their national existence. Bulgaria was suspected by Greece because of the old ecclesiastical quarrel between the Patriarchate and the Exarchate, and the strife of the rival komitadjis in Macedonia—a suspicion which she returned with interest. Bulgaria, too, looked askance on Serbia because of the unprovoked war of 1885, and on Rumania because of the Dobrudja and its Bulgarian population. The only bond which could unite these jealous little nations was a common grievance against Turkey; for in Macedonia, under the rule of the Porte, Serbs, Bulgars, Greeks, and Vlachs suffered indiscriminately.

An alliance between such disparate peoples might well have seemed impossible, even under the spur of the Macedonian grievance. A Balkan League had been tried in the past, and had failed. The Serbian Ristitch, fifty years ago, had advocated the scheme; there were discussions on the subject after the Russo-Turkish War, and King Charles of Rumania and Prince Alexander of Bulgaria approved it; in 1891 the Greek statesman Tricoupis attempted to form an alliance, but was met by the opposition of Bulgaria under Stambolov. Six years later Bulgaria herself revived the proposal. To the most sanguine idealist the stubborn particularism and the secular antagonisms of the states might well have seemed an insuperable bar. The one common ground—hatred of Turkey—might unite them for a little, but presently interests would diverge, and alliance give place to conflict.

This, as it happened, was the course of events.1912. In the spring of 1912 a league was formed for the purpose of driving Turkey out of Europe. Its moving spirit was M. Venezelos, and he was assisted by M. Gueshov, the Bulgarian Premier, by the Serbian M. Pashitch, and not least by the Times correspondent in the Balkans, Mr. J. D. Bourchier. It was agreed that any territory conquered should be held in trust until the allies arranged for its partition. But a special treaty was made in February between Serbia and Bulgaria, under which it was arranged that north-west Macedonia—that is, Novi Bazar and the Prizrend and Prishtina districts—should go to Serbia unreservedly; that in the same way Bulgaria should have the south and south-eastern parts, notably Monastir and Ochrida; and that the zone between, comprising the Uskub territory, should be submitted to the arbitration of Russia.

The story of the First Balkan War need not be1913. recounted here. The Bulgarian armies marched into Thrace, defeated the Turks decisively at Lule Burgas, invested Adrianople, and were only checked by the Chatalja lines. Greece drove the enemy northwards beyond Salonika, and Serbia cleared northern Macedonia and won the brilliant victory of Kumanovo. There was an armistice in December 1912, and an abortive conference held thereafter in London. Hostilities were resumed: Adrianople at last fell on March 26, 1913, to the Bulgarians, and on 5th March Jannina had surrendered to the Greeks. Meantime, in the previous December, Serbia had reached the Adriatic at Durazzo, and in April the Montenegrins took Scutari.

It was now that the real trouble began. The Triple Alliance refused categorically to allow Serbia and Montenegro a share of the Adriatic coast. This was the natural outlet on the sea for Serbia, the direction to which her ambitions had always tended. But since the road was closed to her here, she declared that she must find compensation elsewhere; and that her arrangement with Bulgaria, which had been founded on the assumption of an Adriatic port, no longer held good. Bulgaria stuck to the letter of the treaty, which had not mentioned the Adriatic. Serbia was willing to meet Bulgaria and to accept arbitration, provided that the whole allocation of territory was arbitrated on, and not merely the Uskub districts as formerly arranged. The Treaty of London, signed on 30th May, deprived Turkey of all her European possessions north and west of the Enos-Midia line. But the allocation of the conquered land among the victors was postponed by the outbreak of a new war. For a moment there seemed a chance of peace when Russia invited Serbia and Bulgaria to Petrograd. Serbia accepted, but Bulgaria insisted on laying down conditions about the limits of arbitration. Her intransigence was generally attributed to the influence of King Ferdinand. It was certainly not approved by her civilian ministers or by the people at large.

The Second Balkan War broke out in the beginning of July 1913. The Greeks and Serbians had occupied land on the frontiers of the territory which Bulgaria held, and the latter state took the initiative in hostilities. In a week Bulgaria found herself attacked on four sides. The Turks, disregarding the Treaty of London, retook Adrianople and advanced to the old Bulgarian frontier. Greece and Serbia pressed in from south and west. Rumania, hastening to fish in troubled waters, annexed a further slice of the Dobrudja, which included Silistria and a population of a quarter of a million Bulgarians, and without striking a blow marched her armies to within fifteen miles of Sofia.

Bulgaria had no alternative but unconditional surrender. On 10th August the Treaty of Bucharest was signed by the Balkan States, and a separate treaty was signed later at Constantinople between Bulgaria and Turkey. As a result of two sanguinary wars, and losses of at least 100,000, Bulgaria gained only a strip of Thrace, a fraction of Macedonia, and the open roadstead of Dedeagatch. The place was useless to her, for Turkey, by regaining Adrianople, controlled the only railway from Bulgaria to the Ægean. Moreover, she lost to Rumania a slice of her north-eastern territory. Serbia gained all central and northern Macedonia, including Uskub, Ochrida, and Monastir, and Greece received most of the rest. The Greek gains included not only Salonika, which was a legitimate object of Greek ambition, but the port of Kavala, which was Bulgaria’s natural outlet. The Balkan League had ended in producing a hostility the more deeply felt because it could not be expressed in deeds: a hostility compared to which the old quarrels had been friendship itself. In Sir Edward Grey’s words, “The war began as a war of liberation. It became rapidly a war of conquest. It ended in being a war of extermination.” The beaten intriguers at Constantinople, Berlin, and Vienna had builded better than they knew.

Such was the situation a year before the outbreak of the European contest. Let us take the different states in turn. Greece alone was satisfied, for she had won most with least effort, and in her winnings had gained something more than her economic needs warranted. Her true line of expansion was, as a maritime people, towards the islands and the Anatolian coast. Even if we grant that the great port of Salonika was justly hers, the addition of Kavala was beyond her due. But towards Bulgaria she felt a jealousy and bitterness which made her unwilling to surrender an acre. Ecclesiastical quarrels in the past; the brigandage in which the scum of both countries had indulged for years in Macedonia; and above all, the fear lest Bulgaria, with her industrious population, might beat the Greeks in the race for numbers and wealth, shut her eyes to the desirability for Balkan development of a peace founded upon a just allocation of territory. Rumania stood somewhat aloof. She had got what she wanted, and did not intend to give it back; but she suspected Bulgaria, as a man suspects another whom he has not treated quite fairly.

Serbia had gained some of her desires, but had missed the vital one—an outlet to the sea—though she had certain running powers on the Salonika railway, and had been granted a shadowy permit to construct a line through Albania. In the scramble after the Balkan War she had on the whole behaved with the most dignity. In her argument with Bulgaria on the question of the secret treaty she was probably in the right; for her main object had always been to secure free exports, and the prohibition by the Powers of access to Durazzo meant, if she surrendered central Macedonia to Bulgaria while Greece held the North Ægean coast, that two protectionist states would intervene between her and the sea. It was clearly a case for the revision of any agreement, since the conditions had so materially altered. But the fact remained that she had not won her salt-water outlet, and she had acquired in her new Macedonian territory districts largely peopled by Bulgars, whom not even the familiar Balkan methods of proselytizing were likely to turn into good Serbians. The little state was under the guidance of a sane and politic statesman, M. Pashitch. She was a true democracy, full of valour, confidence, and no small military experience, having within a century fought Turkey four times and Bulgaria twice, and including among her citizens men who had seen five campaigns. After many dynastic troubles she had, in the grandson of Black George the Swineherd, a popular monarch. Her people, the Latins of the Balkans, fond of song and story, and thrilling to heroic traditions, were beginning to envisage with some sobriety the kind of future which was their due. Her wisest brains were thinking less of the East than of the West and South-west, of that Adriatic port which must some day be theirs, and of the championship of the Jugoslavs—Serbs, Montenegrins, Bosnians, Herzegovinans, Dalmatians, Croats, Slavonians, and Slovenes—most of them now the uneasy subjects of the Dual Monarchy. As it has been well put, Serbia in 1914 stood to the Southern Slavs as Piedmont in the Italian Risorgimento stood to Italy.^[2]

Bulgaria was left sullen and dissatisfied, with her pride deeply hurt and the glory won at Lule Burgas sadly tarnished. She had staked all on a throw of the dice, and had lost. She had taken the first step in hostilities against her former allies, and in the summer campaign of 1913 had violated many of the decencies of war. But she considered, with some justice, that her punishment was disproportionate to her offence. The war for which she had sacrificed so much had left her in an impossible position. She possessed no part of that district of Macedonia which was inhabited chiefly by Bulgars. The great route by the Struma valley which debouches at Kavala was in the hands of Greece, who already had ports enough and to spare. The route to the Ægean by the Maritza valley was cut by the Turkish reoccupation of Adrianople. Finally, in the north-east she had suffered the greatest grievance of all. The Treaty of Berlin had left Bulgaria the south-west corner of the Dobrudja plateau, including the town of Silistria on the Danube. Rumania at the time had protested against this, since the railway from Bucharest to the chief Rumanian port of Constanza crossed the river by the only bridge between Belgrade and the sea, at a point only twenty-two miles from the Bulgarian border. She had been told in reply that Bulgaria was not a military state, and constituted no danger; but after the Bulgarian exploits in the Balkan War she demanded some rectification of this frontier, and carried her point. The result was that Bulgaria not only lost a piece of territory essentially Bulgarian in character, but, instead of gaining new outlets on the coast, lost two Black Sea ports, Kavarna and Baltchik, which she had held for thirty years. The Bulgarian people are the least emotional of Balkan races. They have been called the Scots of the peninsula, and, like the men of North Britain, are shrewd, cautious, and industrious. The losses of 1913 were precisely of the kind which they would feel most deeply. No talk of Slav brotherhood could blind them to the fact that they had lost very definite practical advantages which they had long looked forward to, and which they believed they were entitled to claim. This prosaic and tangible grievance, rankling in the minds of such a race, was more explosive material than any whimsies about wounded honour.

On the eve of the great war it was pretty clearly recognized by the wisest heads in the Balkans and by the statesmen of the Triple Entente that the Treaty of Bucharest had been a blunder, and could not last. No state—except Greece, who had gained most—really accepted it as final. The aim of Germany and Austria, as of Turkey before them, was to keep the Balkans in a state of ferment and disunion. It was Austria that inspired the ill-omened Second Balkan War. Cut-throat warfare among the little nations was the best prelude to that movement to the Bosphorus of which Berlin and Vienna dreamed, and which would put a speedy ending to the chaos of nationalities. The Triple Entente, on the other hand, could secure its interests only by the peace and unity of the several states, and to win this end there must be a redivision of territory.

It was easy to suggest schemes for a fairer division, but it was difficult to see where the motive power was to come from to force their acceptance. Observers in the West were accustomed to fix on some particular state and idealize it—Greece because of the tradition of Hellas, Bulgaria because of its sufferings, Serbia because of its warlike prowess. But the world was apt to forget that these were peasant states, nations of small cultivators but lately emancipated; that in such states there is apt to be much of the cunning and parochialism of the peasant; and that to ask them for broad views on world politics, more especially when such views demanded some sacrifice of present advantage, was like seeking grapes from thistles. Some strong persuasive influence from without was necessary before union could grow out of such sturdy differences.

Into this confusion of struggling interests fell the thunderbolt of the European War.

Serbia’s part alone was beyond doubt. The fates had placed her, like Uriah the Hittite, in the forefront of the battle. Rumania was torn between rival affections. King Charles, to whom she owed so much, was a Hohenzollern; German money had built up most of her industries; in Germany and Austria she found her chief markets; she had not forgotten Russia’s snatching of Bessarabia. On the other hand, if she looked to the west, she saw three million citizens of her blood in Transylvania under the Magyar yoke. On the south lay Bulgaria, watchful and unappeased. Clearly, whatever her sympathies, Rumania could not enter the war unless a prior understanding with Bulgaria were arrived at. Greece had nothing to gain from the Teutonic Alliance, and much to lose; but she, too, was obliged to keep an eye on Bulgaria’s movements. Bulgaria had a court and king whose Teutonic sympathies were pronounced; but her people and her most conspicuous statesmen, such as M. Gueshov, inclined to the Allies. Yet not unnaturally she was suspicious and hesitating. She must be sure of her “rights,” whatever way she moved. The urgent need from the Allies’ point of view was a new Balkan League which could promulgate a common policy for all the states, since each was so busily engaged watching her neighbour that she had no eyes for the clouds gathering in the West. Such a League would have been the more justified since, if the Central Empires won, the danger would not menace one state alone, but the very existence of Balkan nationality.

At this point two personalities enter the tale. Topography and history will not by themselves wholly account for a problem; the human element plays its part; and the quality of the actors determines the climax of the drama. The first is Eleutherios Venezelos, the Prime Minister of Greece. No one who first saw that slim figure and grave scholar’s face could have guessed at the strange career or the dauntless will-power of the man. He had been the leader of the Cretan rebels, and had held his own in the mountains in a life where the hand keeps the head. Called suddenly to deal with the military revolution in Athens in 1910, he had quelled faction, won over the court, and reformed the constitution by sheer dominance of character and mind. He feared nothing—neither the bullets of his enemies nor the reproaches of his followers. A democrat in policy, he could, if necessary, defy the populace and control it. As he told M. Take Jonescu, “I have always spoken to my fellow-countrymen the truth and the whole truth, and I have always been quite prepared to lay down my power without regret.” His broad, sane idealism worked soberly in a world of facts. He had founded the Balkan League; he had striven to prevent the second war, and to modify the vindictive Treaty of Bucharest. He saw what was implied in a Teutonic victory, and, like a true Nationalist, wrought for the enduring good of his nation and not for a temporary gain. Before the war his policy had been that of the Triple Entente, and from the first day of hostilities he took his stand on the Allies’ side.

Far different was the second figure, Ferdinand of Bulgaria. As a character in fiction, if truly drawn, he would have amused the world, but would have been condemned on the ground of his manifest improbability. From the day when, twenty-eight years before, he had been selected—faute de mieux—by Stambolov to fill the throne which Prince Alexander had vacated, his career had been half melodrama and half romance. His mother, Princess Clementine, the daughter of Louis Philippe, and, according to Gladstone, the cleverest woman in Europe, had kept him secure in his early days in that uneasy seat. His treatment of Stambolov revealed his coldness of heart, but his quick assumption of Bulgarian nationalism proved his accuracy of judgment. He was like a parody of a Bourbon king in his tastes and manners. His hobbies were many—farming, gardening, ornithology, clothes, jewels; and in his youth he had dabbled in the sciences, and had written a book on his travels in Brazil. His court was ridiculously ostentatious, so that the frugal Bulgarians stared and pondered. Physical courage had been denied him, and he would babble to all and sundry about his fears and disappointments. Surely the strangest monarch for a taciturn and martial people!

But there was a method behind all this vanity and affectation. Ferdinand had a shrewd eye for his own safety and well-being, and, since his fate was bound up with Bulgaria’s, he deserved well of his land. He gave it prosperity and international importance. He interpreted the saying “Après moi le déluge” in a different sense from its author, and was resolved that if the deluge were to come it would follow him, for he would be leading it. Fears of assassination made him determined to be the figurehead of the national advance, whithersoever it tended. M. de Kallay, the Governor of Bosnia, who knew him well, is reported to have put his dominant characteristics in the form of a parable. “We are here on the first floor. If I tell you that assassins are waiting for you with loaded pistols at the door of my room, and advise you to jump from the window at the risk of breaking your neck, you will hesitate; but if you see a cart laden with straw passing under your window you will jump. So will Ferdinand, but not till he sees the cart coming.” The Balkan League gave him the chance of fighting Turkey in comparative safety; but Austria proved an inadequate cart in the Second Balkan War, and he had a heavy fall. In the great European War he waited patiently for the straw till he believed he had found it.

Vanity was his main trait, and for all his timidity he had the occasional boldness of the vain man. He knew also how to work on the vanity of others, believing, like de Tocqueville, that “with the vanity of man you do most good business.” He was an incomparable sentimentalist. To one visitor he would deplore his fate as the leader of an ungrateful nation, in constant danger because of his virtues. To another he would pose as the lover of peace in the midst of strife. “I am like a blind man,” he would say, “running about with a lighted torch among haystacks. Whichever way I turn, I must set something on fire.” Ambassadors of rival groups would be dismissed with dignified tears, and bidden to take an old man’s blessing with them. Some ingenuous souls were deceived; the more wary underrated him, and set him down as a farceur, which was probably the exact impression which he desired to produce. A fool’s cap has before this covered a very shrewd and persistent brain. About the shrewdness of Ferdinand there was no question, and it was to that quality that he owed his hold upon his people. A monarch of such a state must be either braver or more cunning than those he rules over. Ferdinand had no courage to speak of, but his cunning was immense, and very generally respected by his subjects. They had had their hero in Prince Alexander, and had not greatly profited thereby; now they were inclined to pin their faith to the politique.

The course of Balkan diplomacy since the war has already been referred to in earlier chapters, but a short summary of the main events may be of value to the reader. By the beginning of 1915 there was little doubt but that Rumania’s sympathies were preponderantly on the Allied side, and statesmen such as M. Take Jonescu and M. Diamandy announced her speedy entrance into the war. In January M. Ghenadiev, the ex-Foreign Minister of Bulgaria, was at Rome, and it was believed generally that an agreement had been arrived at between Bulgaria and Rumania. The Rumanian army, half a million strong, and one of the best equipped in Europe, was in a state of complete preparedness. During the early spring negotiations went on with Russia to determine Rumania’s reward for intervention. At that time, with Russia in the Carpathian passes, the chance of an effective strategic blow by Rumania was good. Suddenly there came a hitch in the arrangements. Petrograd, it was generally believed, put difficulties in the way on one point which Bucharest regarded as vital, and nothing was done during March and April. By the time that matters were arranged the situation had changed. Russia had suffered her débâcle on the Donajetz, and the easiest road for Rumanian participation was now blocked. The little state was in a difficult position, with the Teutonic League triumphant on her northern border, and Bulgaria, on the south, once more plunged in the mire of indecision. She could do nothing but keep her army in readiness and wait.

The attitude of Greece was from the start benevolent to the Allied interests. In the second month of the war M. Venezelos intimated to France and Britain that, should the necessity arise, they might count on the certain assistance of his country. In January he realized that that necessity might be near, and on the 11th of the month addressed to his king a letter which so admirably states the obligations of Greece arising both from honour and national interest that it deserves quotation in full:—

We have already seen the consequences of the Greek Premier’s policy. Our Dardanelles scheme failed to attract the support of the Greek General Staff; and King Constantine, relying on this circumstance, and swayed by his German relationship, insisted upon neutrality, and brought about M. Venezelos’s resignation. An appeal to the people restored him to power, and by the middle of August he was again in possession of the reins of government. But no step was taken, for Bulgaria was being wooed with concessions wrung with difficulty from Greece and Serbia.

Bulgaria, so it seemed in the early part of theApril 2. year, might be won for the Allies if her price were paid. Serbia was slow to relinquish any part of Macedonia, more especially after the December Battle of the Ridges had freed her for the moment from Austrian invasion. The Greek people—but not M. Venezelos—were also loth to surrender Kavala. The compensating gains, it should be remembered, like the Slav provinces of Austria and a slice of Asia Minor, were only for the future, whereas Bulgaria insisted upon a bird in the hand. There is reason to believe that during the first months of the year Bulgaria, in spite of the German intrigues of her king, was honestly anxious for an understanding with her neighbours, and her most distinguished generals favoured a Russian alliance. Some anxiety, it is true, was caused by the payment in February by a German bank of a second instalment of the loan concluded in Berlin the year before, and people asked if it was likely that the money had been transferred without some substantial guarantee. In March there were Cabinet difficulties, and the Premier, M. Radoslavov, found it necessary to reassure the world that Bulgarian policy was one of strict and loyal neutrality. The attack on the Salonika line on 2nd April by Bulgarian bands looked ugly; but it was assumed that it was only a raid of the lawless Bulgarian komitadjis, for whom, in Dr. Johnson’s phrase, patriotism was the last refuge of the scoundrel.

But in May came von Mackensen’s GalicianMay 29-Aug. 12. advance, and from that date it is fair to assume that the opinions of King Ferdinand and his camarilla hardened in favour of the Central Empires. The Russian retreat and the Allied stalemate in the Dardanelles seemed to have convinced them that victory would lie with the Teutonic League. On 29th May the Allies made a definite proposal to Bulgaria, and throughout the summer Serbia and Greece were brought into line, the representations to M. Pashitch on 4th August by all the Allies being perhaps the last step in the negotiations. M. Radoslavov on 20th July, and again on 12th August, declared that Bulgaria was prepared to enter the war as soon as she received guarantees as to her very modest national requirements. Serbia retorted that, on the contrary, Bulgaria was making difficulties because she did not want to move. About the same time there were rumours of a coming German assault upon Serbia which would clear up the Balkan situation by compelling each neutral state to a decision.

Serbia was right. While M. Radoslavov wasJuly 17. protesting his honest neutrality, and King Ferdinand was weeping on the necks of the Allied diplomatists, Bulgaria’s decision had been taken. On 17th July a secret treaty had been signed between Sofia, Berlin, Vienna, and Constantinople, in which the Teutonic League paid Bulgaria her price, and something more. In return for intervention on their side, she was to be given Serbian Macedonia and Salonika. To this Epirus was added, a Greek territory which had never before been mentioned in connection with Bulgarian claims. This momentous act, which was to have a far-reaching influence on the war, was not the work of the whole Bulgarian people, probably not of the majority. It was concealed from M. Gueshov and the Opposition, and, apparently, from the greater chiefs of the army. The peasants, who still held to Russia as their fathers had done in 1877, were not consulted. If John Bright was right, and the nation in every country dwells in its cottages, the treaty had no national sanction.

The Allied diplomacy had failed, more especially that of Britain, which was entrusted with most of the work. We had begun by refusing to take the Balkans seriously, and ended by passing from apathy to hustle. Two policies might have been followed, each in itself reasonable. Balkan unity might have been secured in the first half year of war by putting sufficient pressure upon both Serbia and Greece. Neither was in a position to withstand the resolute representations of the Allies. Or Bulgaria might have been isolated, and Greece, Serbia, and Rumania brought into active alliance. As it was, by urging concessions ineffectually, we did not satisfy Bulgaria, and we made difficulties for the leaders of the other states. The ill-considered policy which produced the Gallipoli landing was responsible no less for the treaty of 17th July. The Balkan States, like many of a more advanced civilization, could be won only by straight and resolute dealing, backed by an adequate force of arms.

THE AFFAIR AT HOOGE.

The new divisions, of which the raising had begun in the first weeks of the war, were by the end of April ready for the field. Recruiting had gone on busily during the winter, and five new armies were in being. The first of these—containing the 9th to the 14th Division—represented the levy of the early autumn, and by April its troops were fully trained and equipped—if anything, overtrained, for the last month or two had been a matter of marking time. The men who enlisted in August were for the most part of the same class as had thronged to the Yeomanry regiments in South Africa. Some of them loved fighting for its own sake, and eagerly sought the adventure of war; some of them joined out of sheer devotion to duty; some, young men not yet harnessed to a profession, welcomed the chance of an honourable occupation. As the months passed, and the magnitude of the contest revealed itself, thousands enlisted out of a reasoned patriotism, who had no natural attraction to the soldier’s life. But the First New Army contained a large proportion of those who entered the profession of arms for the same reason as our Regulars—because they liked the notion of it, and were endowed

They made splendid recruits. Their standard of physique was very high, and they contained the best of British athletes. Their keenness made them learn quickly, and submit willingly to a severe discipline. At the start the ranks contained many men of birth and education, but gradually most of these were given commissions in the different battalions. The educated man in the ranks is always something of a problem. At first he makes rapid strides, but as the battalion settles down to the slow routine of training his past may make the life intolerably irksome. Unlike the man from the factory, the mine, or the farm, he has never been accustomed to long hours daily of monotonous labour without the stimulus of an intellectual interest. The discipline is harder for him than for his fellows, and it may be doubted whether on the average he makes as satisfactory a soldier.

The question of officers for the new battalions had always been recognized as our chief difficulty in the event of a sudden improvisation of armies. But the First New Army was fortunate in this respect. It could draw on the various Officers’ Training Corps which Lord Haldane had established. A stiffening could be got from the Regulars and the Special Reserve. A certain number of experienced Indian soldiers were available, and retired officers returned to the colours and did invaluable work in training the new troops. The truth is, that we were better off in this respect than most people recognized. There was a type of man in Britain whom the Germans overlooked in their calculations—the man who spends a few years in the army, and then leaves it to take the hounds somewhere, or travel abroad. Nearly all that class was now available, and in the fullest degree serviceable.

The work of the long winter months had been trying. The training of the new battalions was intensive, and the keenness of the men was stringently tested. The weather was wet beyond the usual, and the discomfort of some of the camps was little less than that of the Flanders trenches. The most difficult time, perhaps, was the early spring, when training had been practically completed, and officers were hard put to it to prevent their men from growing “stale.” But the new troops had acquired something of the traditional patience and stamina of the British army, and the battalions that marched along the roads of Northern France in the beginning of May impressed every onlooker with their alert and martial bearing, their discipline, and their superb physique. “Britain,” said one French observer, “has sent out an army of athletes.”

The fighting at Hooge at the end of July and the beginning of August had no strategic significance. It was only an incident in the eternal struggle of small losses and small gains to which the policy of holding the Ypres Salient condemned us. But it is worthy of special notice, both because of the desperate nature of the conflict and because it was the first appearance in battle of one of the new divisions.

In an earlier chapter we have seen that the grounds of the château of Hooge at the south-eastern corner of the Salient had been the scene of much confused fighting during the midsummer months. The position needs careful note. The Menin road ascends gradually from Ypres, and reaches its highest point on the low ridge at Hooge. North of the road lie the grounds of the château and the Bellewaarde Lake, the château itself being near the south-east corner of the lake, and its stables and outbuildings a little farther to the west. South of the Menin road is some open ground, and then two moderate-sized pieces of woodland—which we named the Zouave Wood and the Sanctuary Wood—separated by some fields.

The Germans had held the château itself and the Bellewaarde Lake since May. During the summer we fought for the outbuildings, and occasionally held the rubbish heap which had once been the stables. Early in July the Germans won them back, and by the middle of the month had pushed their front considerably west and south-west of the Bellewaarde Lake, making an ugly sag in the Salient line. About that time the British 3rd Division succeeded in exploding a mine below the German trenches just north of the Menin road, and thereby formed a big hollow which we called the “Crater.” Our first line at this part was a little east of the Crater, between it and the outbuildings of the château. One other point must be noted. South-east of the Bellewaarde Lake the German front ran forward in a long wedge culminating in a fortin just north of the Menin road. There was a similar fortin south of the road in the north-east corner of Sanctuary Wood.

The British dispositions in July, owing to theJuly 29. coming of the first detachments of the New Army, had undergone drastic changes. Here it is sufficient to note that on the 29th day of July the Salient was held by the new Sixth Corps, under Major-General Keir, who had formerly commanded the 6th Division. On the left was the 49th (West Riding) Division of Territorials, under Major-General Perceval. In the centre, with its right near the Roulers railway, was the 6th Division, under Major-General Congreve, V.C. South of it, in front of the Bellewaarde Lake and Hooge, and extending down to Sanctuary Wood, was the 14th Division^[1] of the New Army, under Major-General Couper. On their right lay the 3rd Division, running south-west to the neighbourhood of St. Eloi. The Germans at Hooge were the 126th Regiment of Wurtemberg. Our trenches east of the Crater were occupied by two companies of the 8th Rifle Brigade from the 41st Brigade, troops who had just come up and had not been in these trenches before.

About 3 a.m. on the morning of Friday, 30thJuly 30. July, the Germans delivered a violent attack upon the trenches east of the Crater. They were not good trenches, having been improvised only a short time before under fire, and they had the misfortune to be completely open to shelling from several points. Hooge, as we have seen, represents the crest of the ridge. South and west of it the ground slopes away and rises again in the Zillebeke ridge. It could, therefore, be shelled not only by the German guns to the north and east, but from Hill 60 in the south-west; and this applied not only to the Hooge position, but to all the British front beyond the Zouave Wood.

Plan of the Hooge Area.

(The black line shows German position on morning of July 30.)

But the main attack that morning was not made by artillery. The enemy had sapped up very close to our line, and at three o’clock launched a torrent of liquid fire. The liquid was pumped from machines in the saps, and ignited itself in its passage. Now we knew the meaning of the accusation which had preceded the Crown Prince’s movement in the Argonne. This liquid fire had been prepared since the beginning of the war, for we captured directions for its use in October; but the precise situation when it could be profitably used had not revealed itself until now. Combined with the fire was an assault by minenwerfers, those trench mortars fired from close range which our troops hated beyond every other weapon. The Germans, too, had a great number of bombers, who stormed our trenches with their grenades.

The combination of artillery bombardment, liquid fire, trench mortars, and bombs was irresistible. The two companies of the 8th Rifle Brigade were nearly blotted out. The Germans carried our first line, and won the Crater. Our troops fell back to the second line, which ran north-west from the corner of the Zouave Wood. Thereupon the enemy began to plaster with shell the region behind our front, and turned the Zouave Wood into a deathtrap. Second-Lieutenant Sidney Woodroffe, a boy of nineteen, held his trenches to the last, and brought off his men in good order. He fell heroically, under the fire of machine guns, in a desperate attempt to counter-attack. He was the first man of the New Army to earn the Victoria Cross.

The general commanding the Sixth Corps ordered a counter-attack for the afternoon of that day. It was entrusted to the 7th Rifle Brigade, which was brought up for the purpose from Vlamertinghe, seven miles off, and to what remained of the 8th Rifle Brigade. For three-quarters of an hour before it our artillery bombarded the German position, but without much effect. Far more deadly were the German shells, which swept Zouave and Sanctuary Woods and the country between and behind them.

The counter-attack began at 2.45 p.m., and was doomed to failure from the start. The battalions were mown down in Zouave Wood, and the few that emerged into the open fell under the blast of machine guns. They were under fire from the German fortins and from the German position on the Hooge ridge, and they had to face as well a devastating artillery storm. The Rifle Brigade never wavered, and no exploit in its long and splendid regimental history surpassed in desperate valour the advance of its new battalions towards certain destruction. Only a remnant remained in the trenches outside Zouave Wood. The fields and coppices were strewn with dead, platoons and companies disappeared, and few were the officers who returned. Among those who fell were two of the most brilliant of younger Oxford men, Lieutenant Gilbert Talbot of the 7th Battalion, and Second-Lieutenant the Hon. G. W. Grenfell of the 8th.^[2]

What was left of the 41st Brigade was now taken out, and its place filled by the 43rd Brigade, which contained battalions of the Duke of Cornwall’s Light Infantry, the Durham Light Infantry, the Somerset Light Infantry, and the Yorkshire Light Infantry. No further attempt was made to repeat the suicidal daylight advance. Instead, our gunners took up the tale, and for the next ten days most successfully bombarded the German lines with 9.2-inch and 8-inch heavy guns. That shelling achieved its purpose, for it put a stop to the German artillery, and gave us leisure to reorder our line and draw out the broken remnants. It did more, for it put new heart into our troops. They felt that conditions were changing since the Second Battle of Ypres, when we had been powerless to reply to the German guns. Now at last we seemed to be on an equality. The best tonic for overwrought nerves and sinking spirits was the sound of our great shells screaming overhead, and the sight of mushrooms of dust above the enemy’s line. This bombardment was the more to our credit since our position in the Salient was inferior to the German, inasmuch as it gave us few opportunities for artillery observation. They held all the best view-points, and every gunner knows that it is one thing to fire by the map, and quite another to have hits chronicled and ranges found by direct observation.

The great counter-attack was fixed for Monday,Aug. 9. 9th August. Some changes had been made in the British front. The 3rd Division had taken up the ground held by the 6th Division, and two brigades of the 6th Division—the 16th and 18th—relieved the 41st and 43rd Brigades in the trenches opposite Hooge. It was to the 16th and 18th Brigades^[3] that the counter-attack was entrusted.

The attack was made just before dawn, and moved from the west against the Crater position, and from the south from Sanctuary Wood against the two sides of the new German salient. The artillery work which preceded it was admirably managed. The difficulty of the movement was the great extent of ground to be covered. Between our lines and the main German position on the Hooge ridge was a space of at least 500 yards, and it was all uphill. The enemy, after the bombardment, was naturally on the alert, but what was lost in surprise was gained in the perfect co-ordination of infantry and guns. The York and Lancaster men advanced from Zouave Wood against the Menin road, with the Durham Light Infantry on their right. It became a race between these two battalions as to which should first reach the Crater, and the Durhams won. On their right were the Sherwood Foresters,^[4] with the Queen’s Westminsters (Territorial) in reserve, but the fortin in Sanctuary Wood enfiladed them and made progress impossible. Over the horrible no-man’s-land, strewn with barbed wire entanglements and the bodies of our unburied dead, our infantry swept right up to the fringe of our own shell fire. Then the gunners lengthened their range, and our men were into the German trenches. With bayonet and bomb they cleared out the enemy, especially the extraordinary series of dug-outs which honeycombed the Crater. The two hundred Germans and more who were ensconced in that pit of death died to a man. The attack swept beyond the Crater, and carried the ruins of the stables. There we halted and entrenched ourselves. Sandbags and spades were brought up, and the Royal Engineers, under heavy fire, succeeded in putting up barbed wire defences in front of our new lines.

The attack had succeeded. The dangerous German fortin west of the lake was in our hands, as were the Crater and the stables. Our losses were extraordinarily few. The two battalions who counter-attacked on the afternoon of 30th July had had 2,000 casualties, including sixty officers. The difference in losses was the difference between a well-considered and adequately-prepared movement and a hasty improvisation.

About half-past nine the Germans began to shell our new front from the direction of Hill 60, as well as from east and north. All day the bombardment continued, and our losses began to increase till they reached before nightfall a total of nearly 2,000 for the two brigades. We were forced back from some of the trenches north of Sanctuary Wood, and we retired a little way in front of the Crater. The heavy shelling of the country behind our lines made it very difficult to get up reliefs. The battalion which had carried the Crater and entrenched itself at the stables was ordered to withdraw, but four officers and 200 men did not receive the order and held on all night, and were not relieved till late the following morning. A small party, under Lance-Corporal Smith of the Durham Light Infantry posted in the stables themselves, held out even longer before giving place to fresh troops.

A day or two later the 17th Brigade was brought up to consolidate the line. The 2nd Leinsters occupied the Crater, and for a little there were a good many casualties from the German bombardment. Presently the fighting died away, and the opposing lines returned to their normal condition of intermittent artillery fire. We had restored the Hooge part of our front, which had been left in a precarious state by the German success of 30th July, to as good a condition as was possible in that ill-omened Salient. We had proven that when we chose we could do as effective work with our heavy guns as the enemy, and we had provided another instance of the futility of weak daylight counter-attacks. The New Army had won its spurs, but at a heavy cost.

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF “GRANDEUR.”

There is no sentence in Burke more often quoted than that in which he forbids us to draw an indictment against a nation. The warning is opportune in times of war, when belligerents exhaust their ingenuity in unfavourable generalizations about their opponents. No sweeping condemnation will cover all aspects of a national life, and therefore you cannot deduce from a generality an accurate judgment of an individual or of a section of the society criticised. Again, national faults are different in kind from the personal failings with which we are familiar. A country publicly disloyal to its bond may boast a majority of strictly honourable private citizens. But Burke’s dictum must not be pressed too far. A nation can have national vices; it can sin as a community; and the historian is permitted now and then to fasten guilt upon that corporate existence which we call a people.

Very notably a people may go mad. This does not mean that every individual loses his wits, but that the governing and dominant elements in a nation fall into a pathological state and see strange visions. A malign spirit broods over the waters. Something which cannot be put into exact words flits at the back of men’s minds. Perspective goes, exaltation fires the fancy, the old decencies of common sense are repudiated, men speak with tongues which are not their own. We are justified in saying that France went mad in the days of the Terror, though there were some millions of sober citizens who repudiated her follies. That viewless thing which we call national spirit had become tainted with insanity. Such communal mania is far more dangerous than the obsessions of individuals, for it is harder to diagnose, to locate, and to restrain.

The position in Germany, judging by her Press and the speeches and writings of her public men, had become curious and interesting very early in the second year of war. While she was still amazingly united in her belligerent purpose, two distinct attitudes had revealed themselves among her leaders. We may call the parties thus created the politiques and the fanatics. The first claimed the Imperial Chancellor, the Foreign Office, and probably most of the civilian ministers; perhaps the Kaiser; certainly many of the army chiefs, and some of the ablest military and naval critics, such as Major Moraht and Captain Persius. They recognized that a war of straightforward conquest was no longer possible. They hoped for a draw, a peace in which the conditions should favour Germany. Accordingly they laboured to prepare the public mind of the world for it, and relinquished most of the inflated superman business which was rampant among them at the outset. They were no longer contemptuous in speech of their opponents. They became complimentary, as towards brave men fighting under a misconception. They talked much of the purity and reasonableness of Germany’s aims, of her desire for an honourable peace, and they endeavoured to curb the ardent spirits who had already begun to divide up hostile territories. Above all, they were assiduous in their efforts to explain away the events which led to war, and to get rid of the most damning counts against German policy. These explanations were only aimed in a small degree at their own people, for Germany had been long ago convinced on the subject. They were addressed to neutral countries, especially America, and to what German statesmen fondly hoped were wavering and uncertain elements among the population of their enemies.

A striking example is to be found in the speech which the Imperial Chancellor made in the Reichstag on 19th August. Herr von Bethmann-Hollweg had never been among the fire-eaters, and had lost popularity in consequence. In that speech he laboured to fasten the guilt of war on British Ministers, who, he said, had already violated Belgian neutrality by a secret agreement, and had refused Germany’s offer of a pacific alliance, preferring an offensive pact with France. He tried to prove that Germany, in the crisis of July 1914, had striven for peace, and had not scorned the proposal for a conference. He talked much of the future of Poland when emancipated from Russian tyranny. He declared that Germany must win the freedom of the seas—“not as England did, to rule over them, but that they should serve equally all peoples.” Germany, he said, would be the shield of defence in the future for small nations. And he concluded with a hope that the day would come when the belligerent nations would exact a terrible retribution from the leaders who had so gravely misled them. “We do not hate the peoples who have been driven into war by their Governments. We shall hold on through the war till these peoples demand peace from the really guilty, till the road becomes free for the new liberated Europe—free of French intrigues, Muscovite desire of conquest, and English guardianship.”

There is no need to discuss the arguments of aAug. 26. speech which was convincingly disposed of by Sir Edward Grey a week later.^[1] The interesting point is the light it shed on the rôle which Germany now desired to play in the world’s eyes. She stood for reason, public honour, international decency, and peace, said the Imperial Chancellor. She had been terribly sinned against; but, like a good Christian, she would forgive her enemies. There was little trace of the high-handed superman in his arguments. He laboured to justify Germany’s doings by the old-fashioned canons of right and wrong. He was a politique, desirous of preparing the way for an advantageous settlement. That was intelligible enough, but the conclusion was inconsequent. It asked for German supremacy, neither more nor less. She was to be mistress, and other nations were to have the measure of freedom which she chose to give them. In Sir Edward Grey’s words: “Germany supreme, Germany alone would be free—free to break international treaties; free to crush when it pleased her; free to refuse all mediation; free to go to war when it suited her; free, when she did go to war, to break again all rules of civilization and humanity on land and at sea; and, while she may act thus, all her commerce at sea is to remain as free in time of war as all commerce is in time of peace.”

The Imperial Chancellor’s conclusion was a non sequitur. It did not follow upon his laborious earlier arguments; nay, it clashed sharply with them. It was the same conclusion as that of the fire-eaters, who were the more logical inasmuch as they would have none of the Chancellor’s premises. The cautious politique had been infected with the same disease as the fanatics.

Who were the fanatics? Perhaps three-fourths of the German people. It is more difficult to determine the chief fount of the virus. It was not to be found in the National Liberal and Agrarian stalwarts, who presented memorials demanding the annexation of half Europe. They were merely stupid people, swollen with the vainglory of success.^[2] It was probably not to be found in the army itself. Its chiefs were professional zealots, who did not as a rule trouble their heads about grandiose political theories. Nor was it to be traced to the coterie of Admiral von Tirpitz, for whom Count zu Reventlow played in the Press the part of dancing dervish. The German navy chiefs had no victories to console themselves with, and their wounded pride made them vindictive and relentless enemies, soothing their chagrin with violent words. But that was an intelligible human motive.

It is more likely that history will put the chief blame upon a class which Britain was apt to overlook in the enumeration of her enemies—the German high financial and industrial circles, with their obedient satellites, the university professors. This class was a comparatively new phenomenon in Germany. For the most part humbly born, and often Jewish in blood, it had found itself exalted from social ostracism to the confidence of the Court and a chief voice in the national councils. It had been astonishingly successful. The industry of the

German people exploited by these entrepreneurs had produced results which might well leave the promoters dizzy. The standard of living had changed, and extravagant expenditure on luxury had become the fashion among industrial magnates; a fashion which was reproduced in the bourgeois life of the cities. Being genuine nouveaux riches, they had no tradition to conform to, no perspective to order their outlook on the world. The kingdoms of the earth had fallen to them, and, like Jeshurun, they waxed fat and kicked.

Some of the wiser brains among the magnates had a reason of policy behind this megalomania. They saw that nothing short of a colossal and undisputed victory could safeguard their supremacy. Unless Germany could pay her war bills with indemnities unimagined before in history, there would be bankruptcy to face—bankruptcy which at the best would mean a decade of lean years. The brightest military glory would not restore their overseas trade or redeem the wastes of paper currency. A generation of hard living and preparation for a further effort, which anything less than absolute victory must involve, had no terrors for the hardier souls of the army or the ancient squirearchy. But it seemed the end of all things to the soft and vainglorious kings of German trade. They became fanatics, partly from policy, and partly because they had the disease in their blood.

They had strong allies in the academic class. Not all, for there were many professors who sounded a note of warning, and one or two who had the courage to speak unpopular truths. But the intense specialization of German scholarship and science did not tend to produce minds with a high sense of proportion, and sedentary folk have at all times been inclined to blow a louder trumpet than men of action and affairs. What Senacour called “le vulgaire des sages”—the absorption in dreams and theories to which pedants are prone—was a characteristic of the great bulk of the German teaching profession.

What was this fanaticism which the politiques reprobated, and to which nevertheless they fell victims? It is best described, perhaps, by the French phrase, folie de grandeur. As such it must be clearly distinguished from that other vice of success, la gloire. The greatest leaders in history—Julius Cæsar, Charlemagne, Cromwell, Gustavus Adolphus, Washington—have striven for a profound political and religious ideal which made mere fame of no account in their eyes. Others, like Alexander, have been possessed by a passion for glory, and have blazed like comets across the world. The most perfect example is Charles XII. of Sweden, who, in his short career of nineteen years, followed glory alone and drew no material benefit from his conquests. In his old clothes he shook down monarchies and won thrones for other people. Glory may be a futile quest, but it has a splendour and generosity which raise it beyond the level of low and earthy things. Its creed is Napoleon’s: “J’avais le goût de la fondation et non celui de la propriété. Ma propriété à moi était dans la gloire et la célébrité.” It is to the end of time an infirmity of minds which are not ignoble.

But grandeur is a perversion, an offence against our essential humanity. It may be the degeneration of a genius like Napoleon, but more often it is the illusion of excited mediocrities. It is of the earth earthy, intoxicating itself with flamboyant material dreams. Its heroics are mercantile, and the cloud-palaces which it builds have the vulgarity of a fashionable hotel. It seeks a city made with hands and heavily upholstered. Its classic exponents were those leaden vulgarians the later Roman emperors, of the worst of whom Renan wrote: “He resembled what a modern tradesman of the middle class would be whose good sense was perverted by reading modern poets, and who deemed it necessary to make his conduct resemble that of Hans of Iceland or the Burgraves.”^[3] Grandeur has always vulgarity in its fibre, vulgarity and madness.

The German fanaticism was compounded of commercial vainglory and a rhetorical persuasion that the Teutonic race were God’s chosen people. This kind of belief is beyond the reach of argument. But what in the Hebrews had been a sombre and magnificent confidence became in this modern German imitation something very like smugness. There had always been a tendency towards such racial arrogance in the German mind. It had nothing to do with Nietzsche’s doctrines, which did not exalt any race stock, least of all the German. It descended rather from the classic days of their literature—from Hegel, for example, who, contemplating the stately process of the Absolute Will, found its final expression up to date in the Germany before 1840. It blossomed out in humbler quarters in the stupid insolence of German officialdom. As a literary fashion it was innocent and preposterous—an essay in provincialism which was pardonable because of its absurdity. As a social failing it was at least as comic as it was offensive. But exalt this mannerism into a creed, base on it a thousand material interests, and give it great armies to make it real, and you are confronted with a dangerous mania. Self-worshippers are harmless till they seek to compel the rest of mankind to make the same obeisance.

A good instance of the spirit is to be found in a little book published in February by Professor Werner Sombart of Berlin, under the title of Hucksters and Heroes.^[4] The author, who has been already quoted in these pages, had earned some reputation as an exponent of academic socialism. He had published an account of the part played by the Jews in modern civilization, and now he appeared as the high priest of Germanenthum. He was not a profound thinker or a pleasing writer, but his work was typical of the spirit then dominant in his country. It is the sciolist who has his ear most ready to catch a hint of popular desires, and his work has always documentary value.

Two quotations will make clear his meaning. “Our kingdom”—he speaks for Germany—“is of this world. If we desire to remain a strong state we must conquer. A great victory will make it possible not to trouble any more about those who are around us. When the German stands leaning on his mighty sword, clad in steel from his sole to his head, whatsoever will may down below dance around his feet, and the intellectuals and the learned men of England, France, Russia, and Italy may rail at him and throw mud. But in his lofty repose he will not allow himself to be disturbed, and he will only reflect in the sense of his old ancestors in Europe: Oderint dum metuant.”^[5]

The conception of the chosen people is developed in his peroration: “No. We must purge from our soul the last fragments of the old ideal of a progressive development of humanity. . . . The ideal of humanity can only be understood in its highest sense when it attains its highest and richest development in particular noble nations. These for the time being are the representative of God’s thought on earth. Such were the Jews. Such were the Greeks.^[6] And the chosen people of these centuries is the German people. . . . Now we understand why other people pursue us with their hatred. They do not understand us, but they are sensible of our enormous spiritual superiority. So the Jews were hated in antiquity, because they were the representatives of God on earth.”

Such was the simple philosophy of history which in varying degrees had captured the majority of the German race. It is right and fitting that a people should have a great tradition, and believe itself dowered with a great destiny. Wordsworth in a famous sonnet has written:—

But to what purpose is this consciousness to be used? The poet has told us:—

Such noble confidence is directed to one end—national liberty. But when it degenerates into megalomania, and seeks to set itself above the human family; when, crazy with a belief in a divine mission, it regards itself as absolved from all obligations of morality and law; when it demands that the fires before its altars shall be fed with the rights and ideals of every other people; when it claims for itself the only freedom, and would make all nations dependent upon its good pleasure; then it becomes a childish mania to be suppressed, a malignant growth for which surgery is the only cure. If Germany’s claim were admitted, few honest men would desire to continue their life on this planet.

It was the existence of this disease which made no terms of peace conceivable. The Imperial Chancellor, seeing whither his country was tending, might seek to diffuse an atmosphere of reasonableness, and pave the way for a settlement. But madness is a prepotent thing, and the fanatics would continue to call the tune till the day of cataclysm. The spirits which had been summoned from the unclean deeps could not be laid by a few puzzled politicians.

THE STRAINING OF AMERICAN PATIENCE.

It is worth while to turn from the narrative of the campaigns in the Old World and consider the difficulties which confronted the greatest of neutral Powers, the Republic of the United States. A man who is engaged in a life-and-death struggle is inclined to resent the detachment of a friend, even though that friend has no share in the cause of quarrel. Analogies from private life are too readily and too loosely applied to the affairs of nations, and surprise and irritation are engendered which seem baseless on a dispassionate survey of the facts. During August the neutrality of America became from various causes a razor-edge on which it seemed impossible for any government to continue to walk. The case for and against intervention was habitually overstated by the Press of both continents, and in Britain especially there was a tendency to underestimate the difficulty of President Wilson’s problem. America, even as a neutral, was called on to play so large a part in the war, and her attitude was so vital to the ultimate issues, that it may be well to examine with some care the intricacies of her position after the first year of conflict.

The temper of her people at that time and the reasoned convictions of her leaders were preponderately hostile to the German cause. The large Teutonic admixture in her population had not played the part which German publicists had forecast. In 1910 the foreign-born elements numbered 13½ millions out of a total of 92 millions. There were just over 2½ million Germans, nearly 1¼ million Austrians, and half a million Hungarians. The Irish, who numbered well over 1¼ million, had largely lost their hatred of Britain, save for a few fanatical organizations, and the bulk of them, even if they had little love for England, had less for Germany. The German-Americans, a thrifty, industrious, and law-abiding element, tended far more than most immigrants to be speedily absorbed, and to take on the native American characteristics. They had never played a large part in public life, and had developed no distinctive race stock. The younger generation was as a rule distinguishable only by its enthusiastic Americanism. Hence, except for recent immigrants, there were few bearers of German names who felt any real kinship with German ideals and interests. There was certainly no racial tradition strong enough to stand out against the very real anti-German feeling which soon predominated.

The origin of this feeling must be sought in a number of converging lines of development. One was the growing sense of community with Britain. In the past there had been endless misunderstandings, for a common tradition held with a difference may be the most potent of disruptive forces. The American Revolution, and still more the War of 1812, had left the seeds of bitterness. Britain’s part during the Civil War did not improve matters, for the best-intentioned neutrality in such a struggle must be provocative of criticism. American history-writing in those days was a design in snow and ink—the simple virtues of the republican set against the scowling infamies of the monarchist. But as America advanced in power and wealth her outlook broadened. She became more critical, and discovered a truer perspective. Her scholars and thinkers were less inclined to the worship of mere words, and no longer found republicanism the source of all the virtues. Her social reformers discovered that a republic might be an oligarchy and a monarchy a democracy. As she moved towards a truer national culture of her own, she began to realize her debt to the Old World, above all to those islands from which she had inherited language, literature, law, and a thousand habits of thought. The touch of superciliousness which had marred the British attitude towards her through much of the nineteenth century disappeared on a closer understanding, and the whole-hearted admiration of modern Englishmen for her great personalities like Lee and Lincoln awakened an equal interest in contemporary British movements. American flamboyance was a defence against British patronage, and the two tended to decline together. As America took her place in the larger life of the world, she developed a new appreciation of that old land which had been battling with world-problems for four hundred years. She discovered, somewhat to her surprise, that in the last resort she had the same way of looking at the major matters of life as her cousin across the seas.

The recognition of what an American writer has called “like-mindedness” did not mean that the two peoples would always see eye to eye in everyday matters. There was a great deal of foolish talk about kinship by British writers and statesmen which was in defiance of the proved facts of history. Blood relationship and common standards do not prevent members of a family from moments of acute exasperation with each other. But in those ultimate crises which now and then confront nations and families, “like-mindedness” awakens all the subconscious instincts and dormant memories, and makes apparent the strong common structure below the surface differences. Even the most critical and contumacious households are likely in emergencies to show a solid front to the world.

A second reason was to be found in the American philosophy of politics. The United States has produced many learned publicists, but we shall not find her popular political philosophy in their admirable works. That philosophy, like all popular creeds, was crude and naïve, but it was universally held, and impregnated the habits of thought of the ordinary man to an extent which was probably not to be paralleled from any other people. Its keynote was liberty—an unanalyzed term which degenerated often into a mere catchword, but which represented a very deep and abiding instinct. It was the old English instinct expounded with a new accent. Usually stated in the high-coloured Jeffersonian style, it was interpreted in practice with Alexander Hamilton’s wary good sense. A man should be allowed to live his life in the greatest freedom compatible with the enjoyment of the same right by his fellows. The State had no doubt rights against the individual, but the individual had most vital rights against the State. It was for this freedom, construed in different senses, that both sides had fought in the Civil War. It was this worship of the individual which made America the stoniest soil on the globe for Socialist propaganda. It was this instinct which was responsible for much slackness and corruption and anarchy in American administration, since no half-truth can be safely worshipped. Hence the bureaucratic state, such as Prussia, was of all forms of government the most repellent to American minds. And this right of the individual to live freely was a right, too, of nations, however humble. Cæsarism, as well as bureaucracy, was anathema.

Another item in the creed was a profound belief in law, an inheritance from English progenitors. The nation which had produced Story and Marshall, which lived by a written constitution, which had created the Supreme Court, which had fought a great war on the construction of a clause in an old document, which had to forgo direct taxation because of a phrase in its charter of government, and which submitted time and again to serious administrative embarrassment rather than shake loose a single legal fetter—such a nation was not likely to have much sympathy with Germany’s view that “reasons of State” might override any law, and that international law in especial was only a pious make-believe to keep the world quiet while the strong man armed. Laws might be broken in a fit of wrong-headedness or weakness, but that Law should be deliberately contemned seemed to her an outrage on civilization.

Lastly, into her philosophy of the State she read the ordinary ethical code of Christianity. She believed in old-fashioned conservative right and wrong. The ethical anarchism which set special individuals or nations above Christian morals seemed to her at once blasphemous and silly. She had no metaphysics in her national soul. Good was good and evil was evil, and no rhetoric or hair-splitting would make them otherwise. The strong Puritan strain at the back of her mixed ancestry was conspicuous in her public professions. Her practice might limp behind her creed, but at any rate she would never blaspheme the light. Such an attitude was not hypocrisy; it was fidelity to a profound conviction.

A third reason for fighting shy of Germany was to be found in that humanitarianism which is part of the American character. There is no reason to question the reality of this attribute. Monstrously cruel in its results as was much of her civilization, it was never so consciously or deliberately. She could not be brutal, since brutality implies premeditation. The nation was tender-hearted, with a great pity for weakness and suffering. Her desperate Civil War was waged on both sides with a singular chivalry. The German outrage on Belgium and the long series of infamies proved against the armies of the Kaiser revolted America in her inmost soul. The detestation was increased when it presently became clear that these barbarities were calculated and were part of a carefully thought-out system. She might forgive the lapses of passion, but never the outrages of copybook desperadoes.

A fourth cause was the pacificism to which as a national ideal she had long been committed. Her Civil War, one of the bloodiest in history, had involved the death of a million men, and had destroyed the best of her race stocks. The memory of that holocaust had inspired her with an intense hatred of war. Outside the ordinary diplomatic entanglements of the world, she had not brought herself to envisage an armed struggle between nations as an eternal contingency. Moreover, as a commercial people, she saw the economic loss and folly of warfare, and for long she had striven to give effect to her views and to lead the nations into the pleasant paths of conference and arbitration. The elements of militarism in her daily life were few. Her army was small, and as a profession made little appeal to her youth. Her navy was unknown to most of the inhabitants of her vast territories. Expenditure even upon defence seemed to her waste, for she had no urgent menace before her. Her love of abstractions and of high-sounding phrases made peace a favourite counter in her popular oratory. In this attitude there were, no doubt, unworthy elements. There was something of the pedant who generalizes from an exceptional case. There was much of the prosperous rich man who repudiates whatever has no immediate cash value. There was a touch, too, of self-righteousness, which is not the quality that exalteth a nation. Vapourings such as Mr. Bryan’s were the product of a mind drunk with its ample rhetoric. But behind all these pacifist follies America had a sober conviction which did credit alike to her head and her heart. She had a vision of a wiser and not less virile world where “the glories of our blood and state” would be independent of the sword. To such an idealism the creed of the new children of Odin seemed the last and fatalist heresy.

Last, but not least, among these causes we must rank the incredible blindness of German diplomacy. Intensely conscious of her nationality, she found certain elements in her population treated by German agents as if they were still subjects of the Kaiser—which, indeed, according to the German naturalization laws, many of them were. Proud of her independence and her position in the world, she had to submit to alternate threats and cajoleries, and to an insufferable patronage. Count Bernstorff and his coadjutors were masters in the art of blundering. There were weak points in the case of the Allies from an American point of view, which an adroit man might have used to advantage. There were features in the British conduct of the naval war which might easily have been turned into an irritant to inflame the quick American sense of legality. But Germany flung away lavishly the cards which the gods had given her. The Allies had no need of an advocate. Germany herself was the chief pleader in their case.

The consequence was that from the outset of the war the intelligence and the popular feeling of America had been against the Teutonic cause. A few political or legal theorists admired the German system; a few sociologists had an affection for the German municipal régime; a sprinkling of scientists looked up to German scholarship; some of the Army officers professed esteem for the German army; one or two great financial houses could not forget their German affinities; and a considerable proportion of German-Americans made no secret of their sympathies. But these elements, though loudly vocal and well supported by a subsidized Press, were a mere fraction of the American people. Some even of the leading German-Americans were favourable to the Allied cause. And the ablest statements of that cause came from the pens of men who, in the eyes of their countrymen, were the most representative and authoritative Americans.

It may be asked—it was a stock question at the time in France and Britain—why, since America’s convictions were thus clear, she did not range herself with the Allies. When inquiry was made as to what it was proposed that America should do, the reply was that on behalf of international honour and public morals she should have declared war upon Germany, or that at any rate she should have called her to task. Both came to the same thing; for a protest, to which Germany would have given a summary answer, would, if strongly supported, have meant war. What reasonable ground was there for holding that it was America’s duty, apart from direct provocation, to enter the struggle on the Allies’ side? The matter is important, for on it depends our estimate of American conduct. We are dealing at present with the early stages of the war, before Germany’s submarine policy had created a definite cause of offence.

It should never be forgotten that a nation, in making the momentous decision for or against an armed conflict, is guided not by sympathies but by interests. A statesman is bound to consider the enduring interests of his country, and not the passing moods of popular sentiment. He may for this reason have to fight an unpopular war, or to insist upon an unpopular peace. It may be the highest unwisdom, because the feelings of his countrymen are moved on a particular issue, such as the misfortune of a dynasty, or the harsh treatment of a little state, to go crusading on its behalf. It is not his business to act as censor morum to the world at large, or as the knight-errant of distressed peoples. His duty is to consider the good of his own realm. Occasionally he may be forced by popular clamour to take up arms lest his country be rent internally. But, save in this extreme case, his path is clear. The steady light of policy, and not the marsh-fires of sentiment, must be his guiding star.

In the case of America it might well be argued that her deepest interests would be malignly affected by Germany’s success. But to set against this we must remember that the conflict in the Old World appeared to American observers to be at least evenly matched, and that they did not seriously believe that Germany would win in the long run. Had the odds in her favour been greater, American policy might have shaped itself differently from the beginning. Again, it was clear that American sympathy with the Allies, while sincere in itself, was by no means so intense as to force the hand of a politic statesman. Advocates for immediate intervention, such as Mr. Roosevelt, based their argument rather on sentiment than on policy, and that sentiment was still far short of a passion. America as a whole was anxious that the Allies should be victorious, but she did not consider it her duty to take up cudgels in a quarrel which at first only remotely concerned her. Her statesmen believed with much reason that neutrality was for her the path of interest, and by no means inconsistent with honour. The popular temper was slightly different, but not different enough to set up a dangerous antagonism to these counsels of peace.

President Wilson, therefore, played a discreet and aloof part, and he was supported in it by the great majority of his countrymen. America realized what many of her critics failed to understand, that an active participation in the conflict was the only alternative to complete neutrality, and she did not see her way to so bold a step. As we have seen, she had for long made a cult of peace, and was possessed of a genuine horror of war. She knew little about the actual quarrel, for the average American is profoundly ignorant of foreign affairs. She remembered Washington’s warning against European engagements,^[1] and Jefferson’s famous watchword, “Peace, commerce, and honest friendship with all nations, entangling alliances with none.”

Her cherished Monroe Doctrine was the charter of her detachment. At the Hague Conferences of 1899 and 1907 she had formally restated her “traditional policy of not intruding upon, interfering with, or entangling herself in the political questions or policy or internal administration of any foreign state,” and she had become a party to the Algeciras Treaty with the same reservation. A decade earlier she had appeared to assume the duties of a World Power, but her experience in the Philippines had caused a reaction against this nascent imperialism, and her recent relations with Mexico had sickened her of foreign adventures.

These reasons decided public opinion, and, since in America public opinion is the true sovereign, President Wilson was loyal to his master. The President of the United States has in theory more absolute executive powers than any ruler in the world. But he is bound to an unseen chariot wheel. He dare not outrun the wishes of the majority of the citizens. His pace is as fast as theirs, but no faster, or he courts a fall. A true democracy is a docile follower of a leader whom it has once trusted. But an incomplete democracy such as America demands not a leader but a fellow-wayfarer who can act as spokesman. Hence it was idle to talk of President Wilson’s policy as if it were the conclusions and deeds of an individual. It was his business to interpret the opinion of America at large, and there is no reason to believe that he erred in this duty.

A vital and magnetic personality like Mr. Roosevelt could, indeed, create opinion on his own account, and initiate novel departures. But Mr. Roosevelt was not the orthodox Presidential type. Mr. Wilson was far more in the true line of succession from the founders of the republic. He was a man of wide and liberal ideas, and a deeply-read student of history and politics. Probably no modern ruler has ever brought to his task a stronger equipment of theoretical knowledge. Though a Democrat, he did not follow the Jeffersonian tradition, and his best-known political work revealed him as an enthusiast for the new American Imperialism. His political career before his election showed that he possessed courage and initiative. In those days he described himself as “a Conservative with a move on,” a phrase which may be taken as a summary of the central public opinion of both America and Britain. His detractors called him academic, but the term was an unwilling tribute to the judicial quality of his mind. Having decided that the temper and the interests of his country were on the side of neutrality, he balanced the scales with a meticulous precision. That in itself was no slight achievement in the midst of a universal hurricane of war.

His mistake, and that of his friends, was that they were apt in their public utterances to base their policy on the wrong grounds, and to spoil their case with irrelevant rhetoric. America’s conduct was founded on self-interest and on nothing else. She looked to present and future advantages, as she was justified in doing. No man is bound to be a Crusader, and no nation is called upon to be quixotic. But when the President declared that America was “too proud to fight,” and when others, with half the world suffering for the eternal principles of right and wrong, announced that American neutrality was a triumph in the cause of human progress, it had an ugly air of cant. Common sense is an excellent thing in its way, but it is not heroic. The successful merchant becomes an offence when he masquerades as a paladin.

The American attitude was a godsend to Germany, but the latter had not the wit to appreciate her blessings. The difficulty arose over the Allied command of the sea. American markets were open to all the belligerents to purchase munitions of war, but only the Allies could take delivery. Germany protested that this one-sided commerce was a breach of neutrality, which it certainly was not, and received on this point a very clear answer from the President. Then she set herself with immense industry to hamper the Allied purchases by fomenting internal trouble in the United States. Presently came the British blockade, and her reply to it by submarine warfare. The indiscriminating nature of the latter campaign was certain to bring about trouble with neutrals, but Germany presumed upon American disinclination for war. She believed that she had the measure of Washington, and that if she spoke fair words she could escape the consequences of her own offences, and, if fortune smiled, even provoke a breach with Britain. She trusted Count Bernstorff and his merry men to organize German sympathizers across the Atlantic, and use the Western and the Southern states to balance the Eastern. Meanwhile her submarines would pursue their business unchecked. If America suffered she would apologize,—and a little later do it again.

The sinking of the Lusitania, when over a hundred of her citizens lost their lives, first awoke America to the nature of Germany’s game. It led to the retirement of that clumsy diplomatist, Herr Dernburg, who at the request of the American Government returned to his fatherland on 13th June. In an earlier chapter we have considered President Wilson’s Notes to Berlin, and the evasive answers they received. The Note of 21st July was in the nature of an ultimatum. It declared that American citizens were within their rights in travelling wherever they wished on the high seas, and that the American Government would take the necessary steps to protect these rights.

Germany was not slow to put this resolution toAug. 19. the proof. At half-past nine on the morning of Thursday, 19th August, the White Star liner Arabic, which had left Liverpool for New York the afternoon before, was torpedoed and sunk off Cape Clear without warning by a German submarine. The loss of life was small, as the vessel remained afloat for ten minutes, and there was time to lower the boats. But the indignation in America at this outrage was great, for twenty-six Americans were among the passengers. The first German excuses were that the Arabic was a British ship going out for a cargo of war materials, and carrying on board gold to pay for them; that the vessel had been mined, not torpedoed; and that in the alternative, if torpedoed, it was because she had tried to ram the submarine after notice had been given her to stop. This curiously inconsistent defence was disproved in every detail by the officials of the shipping company, and by the affidavits of American survivors. The wrath of the American people was so unmistakable that Count Bernstorff thought it well to trim. He implored Washington to wait for the official report, adding the usualAug. 27. diplomatic assurance about his Government’s regret if American lives had been lost. Eight days later he informed Mr. Lansing that full satisfaction would be given to America for the sinking of the Arabic, while Herr von Jagow announced that before that event Germany had adopted a policy designed to settle the whole submarine problem.

What this policy was appeared on 1st September,Sept. 1. when Count Bernstorff handed Mr. Lansing a written pledge. “My dear Secretary,” it ran, “in reference to our conversation of this day, I beg to inform you that my instructions concerning our answer to your last Lusitania Note contain the following passage: ‘Liners will not be sunk by submarines without warning, and without ensuring the safety of the lives of noncombatants, provided that the liners do not try to escape or offer resistance.’ Although I know that you do not wish to discuss the Lusitania question until the Arabic incident has been definitely and satisfactorily settled, I desire to inform you of the above, because this policy was decided upon by my Government before the Arabic incident occurred.”

This undertaking obviously fell far short of America’s requirements. It ignored Mr. Lansing’s assertion of the rights of neutrals bound on lawful errands in ships of belligerent nationality to be preserved in life and limb, for no submarine was able to ensure their preservation. It could drive them into the boats before torpedoing the vessel, but small boats in mid-ocean may be a slender basis of security. There were cases during the war of one being without food and water for four days before being picked up, and of consequent deaths from exposure. Again, it applied only to passenger liners and not to ordinary merchant ships. Further, a submarine could sight a liner before a liner could see a submarine, and the field was wide for bogus charges of attempted escape. Yet in spite of its ambiguity and insufficiency, the undertaking was received in America with a pæan of triumph over Mr. Lansing’s diplomacy, and eulogies of Count Bernstorff’s moderation. That a hard-headed race should have shown such enthusiasm over a dubious promise showed the intense disinclination of the American people for war, and President Wilson’s success in interpreting the feelings of his countrymen.

The simple truth seems to have been that the star of von Tirpitz was declining. Germany found that her submarines were mysteriously disappearing, and that the value of the whole campaign was scarcely worth the price. Quick to seize a momentary advantage, Count Bernstorff used the new temper of America to angle for the support of the peace sentimentalists. His agents in the Press and elsewhere hinted not obscurely that the Kaiser wished to settle the submarine controversy in order to get the help of the United States in bringing the war to a close. As we have seen elsewhere, this was Germany’s main desire at the moment. While her arms were triumphant in Russia, she hoped for a peace on her own terms. What these terms would be may be gathered from the suggestions in the American Press. They would include the creation of an independent kingdom of Poland; the cession of Courland; the autonomy of Finland; the partition of Serbia between Austria and Bulgaria; the evacuation of Belgium and North France in return for Belgian Congo and the French possessions in Africa; the restoration of German Africa by Britain; an international agreement guaranteeing the freedom of the seas and the immunity of private property from attack; and—as a curious afterthought—world-wide recognition of the rights of the Jews. These terms were, of course, not official; but there is reason to believe that they represented generally the attitude of the German authorities. The mixture of unabashed privateering with concessions to American sentiment by the lip-worship of a bogus autonomy and liberalism was characteristic of German diplomatic methods.

But in the midst of this atmosphere of brotherhood,Sept. 4-6. when righteousness and peace in the shape of the German Embassy and the American Foreign Office kissed mutually, there fell a thunderbolt. About half-past eight on the night of Saturday, 4th September, the Allan Liner Hesperian was torpedoed without warning, 130 miles west of Queenstown. The vessel did not sink immediately, and was towed towards port, but foundered at seven o’clock on the morning of Monday, the 6th. There was a small loss of life, but among the crew were two American citizens. The incident played havoc with the new harmony. It was clear to America that whatever the Government of Berlin might say, and whatever instructions might be given, submarine commanders would go on their old path, and would invent some excuse or other to cover their actions. The irritation was increased by the official Note on the subject of the Arabic, which was handed to the Ambassador in Berlin on 7th September. In it an unbelievable tale was told of a deliberate attack by the liner on the submarine, and it was announced that, even if the commander had made a mistake, Germany could not recognize any obligation for compensation. In the event of no agreement being reached, she offered to submit the matter to the Hague Tribunal. This Note the American Government refused to accept.

It was now becoming apparent that no German undertaking had any real significance, since in each case she would allege some special circumstance which took it out of the general rule she had agreed to observe. While the reaction from the premature rejoicing of the first days of September was in full swing, American patience received the hardest trial of all. It was bad enough to have Germany playing fast and loose with the lives of American citizens on the high seas, but it was worse to find her tampering with domestic affairs within America itself. For months there had been rumours of sinister underground activities directed from the German Embassy in Washington. Passports had been falsified—a work in which the Naval and Military attachés, Captain Boy-Ed and Captain von Papen, were the prime movers. The methods of the Black Hand were adopted. There were dynamite outrages in Canada and incendiary fires in various factories throughout the Union. German money was lavished in subsidizing a portion of the American Press, and in distributing pro-German literature. During August the New York World published documentary evidence to prove the establishment of a German Press bureau under the pretence of an impartial agency for the supply of news. It showed that Count Bernstorff had an income of some £400,000 a week for propagandist purposes. It proved also that German emissaries were engaged in engineering strikes in American munition works, and that German agents were urging the Imperial Chancellor to prevent the dispatch of goods purchased in Germany by United States manufacturers in order that the blame might be put upon the British blockade. This constituted a gross interference with internal American affairs, which not even the most pacific people would be likely to tolerate. But matters reached a head on 6th September, when the Dumba case was made public.

This business, for all its seriousness, belongedAug. 30. so much to the world of pure comedy that it affords a welcome relief to the grimmer chronicle of war. On 30th August the steamer Rotterdam touched at Falmouth. In it was an American journalist, Archibald by name, whose aim in life seems to have been the acquiring of minor foreign decorations. The night before his departure from New York this agreeable cosmopolitan had dined with the German and Austrian Ambassadors, and, as an aspirant for the Iron Cross, had been entrusted with some highly confidential messages. He was also given a number of letters of introduction, including one to Baron Kuhlmann at the Hague, and in a covering letter Count Bernstorff expressed his pleasure that he was once more returning to Europe “after having promoted our interests out here in such a zealous and successful manner.” In another letter Captain von Papen wrote of him as “a strictly impartial journalist.” This pose was, of course, necessary for the success of the former activities.

In the budget seized by the British authorities there were documents bearing the signatures of Count Bernstorff, Dr. Dumba, and Captain von Papen. Count Bernstorff’s principal contribution was a copy of his memorandum to Mr. Lansing of 10th June, in which he dealt with theJune 10. charges of American newspapers that Germany was negotiating for the purchase of factories and war material in the United States. These charges he categorically denied. There was also a memorandum from the same hand, dated 18th August, in which he faced theAug. 18. difficult problem raised by the New York World’s disclosures. On the 31st of July Dr.July 31. Albert, the Financial Adviser to the German Embassy, lost his portfolio in the New York Elevated Railway, stolen from him, he declared, by the spies of the British Secret Service. This portfolio came, as we have seen, into the hands of the New York World, and for a week or so made sensational reading for the students of American journalism. Count Bernstorff accordingly felt himself obliged to offer to the American Government a “short statement concerning the facts.” He did not disclaim any longer the German attempt to obtain control of American munition factories, or to purchase their output. He declared that nothing of the sort had been done, but he asserted—with some reason—Germany’s right to do it if she had the money for the purpose. That Germany had ever tried to stir up strikes or “take part in a plot against the economic peace” of America he resolutely denied. He denied also that there was anything improper in the very modest Press campaign which Germany had conducted. So much for the Ambassador. Unfortunately, his wholly correct sentiments were not shared by his colleagues and underlings. Dr. Dumba and Captain von Papen ingenuously toppled down the tall tower of ambassadorial decorum.

Dr. Dumba, the Austro-Hungarian Ambassador, was one of those stormy petrels of diplomacy who have often found shelter in the dovecotes of the Ballplatz. A Macedonian by birth, the world first heard of him as an agent-provocateur in the Balkans. He was a walker in tortuous ways, with a front of brass and an elastic conscience. The Archibald portfolio held three of his dispatches to the Foreign Minister at Vienna. The first was not published. The second contained a very full description of the efforts he had made to stir up unrest among the munition workers. This was dated 20thAug. 20. August, two days after Count Bernstorff had sent his official denial to Mr. Lansing. “It is my impression,” wrote Dr. Dumba, “that we can disorganize and hold up for months, if not entirely prevent, the manufacture of munitions in Bethlehem and the Middle West, which, in the opinion of the German military attaché, is of great importance, and amply outweighs the comparatively small expenditure of money involved.” In the next sentence he revealed himself as a social reformer. “Even if the strikes do not come off, it is probable that we should extort more favourable conditions of labour for our poor down-trodden fellow-countrymen. In Bethlehem these white slaves are now working for twelve hours a day and seven days a week! All weak persons succumb and become consumptives.” Dr. Dumba was a provident soul, and was resolved, if the secret came out, to pose as a philanthropist. Then he proceeded to implicate the German Embassy. “So far as German workmen are found among the skilled hands, a means of leaving will be provided immediately for them. Besides this, a private German registry office has been established, which provides employment for persons who have voluntarily given up their places, and it is already working well.” He enlarged on the details. He explained what the local Hungarian, Slovak, and German Press was doing, and how its activities could be increased. It may be noticed in passing that this was a libel on the Slovaks in America, who had shown themselves throughout on the side of the Allies.

One passage revealed the main lines of the plot. “To Bethlehem must be sent as many reliable Hungarian and German workmen as I can lay my hands on, who will join the factories and begin their work in secret among their fellow-workmen. For this purpose I have my men turners in steel-work. We must send an organizer who, in the interests of the Union, will begin the business in his own way. We must also send so-called ‘soap-box’ orators, who will know how to start a useful agitation. We shall want money for popular meetings, and possibly for organizing picnics. In general, the same applies to the Middle West. I am thinking of Pittsburg and Cleveland in the first instance.”

The third Dumba dispatch was a long rigmarole about the best ways of inflaming the anger of American importers against Britain. There was also a letter in which the New York World disclosures were discussed. “Count Bernstorff,” we were told, “took up the position that these slanders required no answer, and had the happy inspiration to refuse any explanation. He is in no way compromised.” As we know, Count Bernstorff did explain the whole matter to Mr. Lansing, and had the happy inspiration to deny the charge of fomenting strikes. Dr. Dumba, who knew the truth, went on to console himself and his employers with the reflection, “there is no evidence to support the main charge.” That evidence, by the favour of Mr. Archibald, the world possessed on 6th September.

Captain von Papen’s contributions were the most curious of all. One referred to the ordinary small talk of the espionage business. One, addressed to the German Ministry of War, revealed the fact that German agents had bought up large amounts of war material, and had great difficulty in knowing what to do with them. It was proposed, among other things, to dump a quantity of toluol on the Norwegian Government. But the most interesting document was a private letter which is worth quoting in full:—

No nation, not even the most pacific, likes to be called idiotic. The Archibald disclosures, coming on the top of the unsatisfactory reply about the sinking of the Arabic, and the more recent Hesperian incident, left an ugly impression on the public mind of America. The Austrian Embassy was revealed as a nest of insolent intriguers. The German Ambassador was shown writing pompous disclaimers to Mr. Lansing with his tongue in his cheek, while his satellites of the von Papen type were busy at the very activities which he denied. The whole German attitude towards the United States was now blindingly clear. “These good and naïve Americans,” said the German Government, “live on a diet of windy words. Let us flatter their bent and give them plenty of this inexpensive provender, and we need not deviate one inch from the course we have set ourselves. They are determined not to fight, and will seize on any shadow of an excuse to keep out of the quarrel.”

This conclusion, though it had much surface justification, was a complete misreading of the American temper. We need not blame the Teutonic ambassadors too much. The private correspondence of most embassies, if published unexpectedly, would make sensational reading for the countries concerned. “The most malicious democrat,” wrote Bismarck on one occasion, “can have no idea what nullity and charlatanry are concealed in diplomacy.” But we may be grateful that a fortunate chance let in the light on a colossal humbug. America was wounded in her amour propre, and was compelled to take firm action. Washington demanded that Dr. Dumba should be recalled, on the ground that he had been guilty of a violation of diplomatic propriety. Vienna hesitated and quibbled, and Dumba was thereupon handed his passports. By the middle of September the reputation of Count Bernstorff and his staff had fallen like speculative stocks in a financial crisis.

One result of the incident may be noted. About this time an Anglo-French Commission visited America with a view to raising a loan. The matter will be dealt with later when the autumn position of the Allied finances is discussed. Here it is sufficient to observe that the chance of a loan, which had not been rosy during the summer, and in the beginning of September had looked black indeed, had by the middle of the month suddenly become hopeful. The Government objection had been the risk of stirring up bad feeling between the heterogeneous elements in the American people. But Count Bernstorff and his friends had nullified that argument. Their ill-advised intrigues had spilt the fat into the fire, and made a decorous neutrality impossible.

THE GREAT RUSSIAN RETREAT.

The fall of Warsaw consummated a process which began in the early days of May—the awakening of Russia to the full gravity of the war. From the start the nation had been united. The campaign had been a popular one beyond any in her history. It had been recognized by every class as a struggle not only for national existence but for the essential ideals of civilization and humanity. But the magnitude of the contest had not revealed itself. Her conquest of Galicia, her firm defence of the Warsaw front, and her bold ventures across the Carpathians had obliterated the memory of the first weeks when her unpreparedness had weighed heavily on her High Command. The extraordinary fighting quality of her soldiers had made her forget how small a part individual valour plays in the first stage of a modern war. Russia had grown over-confident, and that confidence had almost been her undoing.

Looking back in August at the course of events since April it was easy to discover her mistakes. In the first place, she had been holding an impossibly long line for her numbers of men and guns, and her Carpathian advance had made it daily longer and more vulnerable. The Russian front was not the continuous series of entrenchments which existed in the West. There were gaps in it, such as that between the Niemen and the Narev, and the junctions of the different armies seem to have offered points of serious weakness. In many parts—vital parts—the front was terribly thin. Take Dmitrieff’s 3rd Army on the Donajetz. In April the 9th Corps was holding a front of forty-five miles. The 31st Division held nearly eight miles; the Elets Regiment, about 4,000 strong, held nearly five. It was believed that in case of attack reinforcements could be readily brought up; but the communications were bad, and little was done to improve them. Proposals to bring out skilled workmen from England were toyed with and shelved. No attempt was made to double the single line from Lemberg to Jaroslav, the chief feeder of the Donajetz front; nor was the railway bridge at Przemysl repaired after the capture of that city, so as to make available a direct double route from Lemberg to Tarnow. The result was that the Russian army suffered from lack of mobility. Troops could not be brought up quickly to the threatened point, and each regiment was in effect left alone to repel any attack that might be made on it. The enemy in an advance could by means of his admirable railways weaken remote parts of his front to strengthen the operative part, but the same tactics were not open to the defence. Hence Russia lost the advantage of holding the internal lines. Though the enemy had to operate against a convex front, he had far greater powers of local concentration.

Again, the individual ascendency which the Russian soldier had established on the southern front led to an undue depreciation of his opponents. During the long halt on the Donajetz the Austrians kept up an incessant bombardment; but this did little harm, for they never followed it up by an infantry attack, and consequently a large proportion of the Russian troops could be withdrawn from the trenches attacked. This state of affairs led also to a certain slackness of intelligence work, and the sense of security which it induced prevented alternative positions being prepared. It may well be questioned, however, whether the existence of such positions would have made much difference in the débâcle of May. The best trenches in the world would have been useless against the German artillery, especially if, as frequently happened, they could only be manned by unarmed soldiers at a distance of twenty yards from each other.

This brings us to the essential Russian weakness in equipment. Her total of heavy guns was far lower than the enemy’s, and her lack of railways prevented her recalling readily those which had been sent to other parts of the front. Her field artillery, excellent in pattern and efficient in its gunnery, was poorly supplied with shells; and at various times in the course of retreat its munitions gave out altogether, and it made no attempt to cope with the fire of the enemy. The Russians were terribly short also in machine guns, having at the most one to the enemy’s four. As the retreat continued, even their musketry fire was in danger of starvation. Many of the new recruits took their places in the firing line without rifles; and captured rifles, preserved as souvenirs, were collected from the Red Cross detachments and wherever they could be found. Men had to wait in the trenches under heavy fire till they could get arms from wounded comrades. In the 2nd Army a whole Siberian division had to face a shrapnel attack without a single rifle among the lot, and the field artillery of that army was limited to two shells a day. When Irmanov’s 3rd Caucasians fought their great battle at Jaslo, their general at one moment was compelled to refrain from a counter-attack because he had only twenty rounds of rifle ammunition per man. In the words of a Russian private: “We had only one weapon, the living breast of the soldier.”

Even an army of veterans in circumstances like these might have looked for annihilation. At any rate its retreat, by all human calculation, should have been a rout and a confusion. The amazing fact was that there was no rout; that this force, which had lost incredibly, which was short of every munition of war, held the enemy firm, and after the first week fell back at its own pace, with stubborn rearguard actions and many successful counter-advances. There were no sweeping captures by the enemy, and the few Russian guns taken testify not only to the scarcity of arms but to the orderliness of the retreat. Observers who took part in it bore witness to the absence of panic, and, indeed, of any signs of excitement. Corps like the 3rd Caucasians, who had been reduced to a fragment, still planned and executed bold measures of reprisal. The 12th Siberian Division, on the Upper San, twice crossed the river under heavy fire, and cut its way through the enveloping Germans. There was no capture of hospitals or Red Cross units. The trains moved eastwards at their usual leisurely speed, and a collision on the main line was put right with perfect composure. The great retirement, it may be fairly said, caused less flurry to the troops engaged in it than to the various Staffs at headquarters and to spectators at a distance. “If we had only guns,” said the soldiers, “we should be marching the other way. As it is, we shall soon return.”

The invincible fibre of the Russians could not be weakened by a disaster which would have broken the spirit of most armies. Still less was it affected by the calculated barbarities of the enemy. The Austrians behaved tolerably well, the Germans with a steady cruelty which would have stained their reputation had anything so dark been capable of further blackening. If it is fear that makes men brutes, then the panic would seem to have been on the side of the invaders. The Russians in their extremity never forgot the human decencies, as countless instances proved. Officers reported that it was difficult to get their men to shoot a spy, even when caught in the act. Three Russians were wounded by a German aviator whom they were helping to hospital. They took prisoners who continued to fire on them up to the moment of surrender. No drunken man was ever seen in the Russian lines, while the Germans were often so drunk in action that the effects lasted long after they had been taken captive. The evidence on these and on other points is so strong that it cannot be disregarded even by those who are rightly sceptical about tales of atrocities in war. The Germans repeatedly shot or bayoneted their prisoners in cold blood. In many cases, escaped Russian soldiers returned horribly mutilated, because they had refused to answer questions. In captivity the Russians were treated with excessive harshness, while German prisoners in Russia were well provided for. A description by a Red Cross representative of an interchange of prisoners at a place on the Swedish frontier reveals something of this difference in the code of national ethics:—

“It is difficult to find words to describe the dreadfulness of the scene at Tornea. Everything possible had been done to invest the home-coming of the poor Russians with an air of festivity. The pier at which the barges discharged was lined with Russian troops. A distinguished committee was there to receive the prisoners. Flags fluttered. A military band played the Russian National Anthem. Crowds had assembled to cheer their compatriots as they landed. . . . And then they came, and I shall never forget the sight. I may claim, from my hospital experience, to know something of the symptoms of health and sickness. Those people who crept off the barges hardly had the semblance of human beings. Anything more pathetic it is impossible to conceive. They came back dazed and limping. Every man was in rags. There was nothing approaching a complete uniform on any one. Few had coats. Some had no shirts. Many had no socks. There was not, I believe, one sound pair of boots among them. Their hair was untrimmed. Some of the crippled supported themselves on crutches carved from the lids of packing cases and the like. The less feeble helped the others to walk. Every man was emaciated to the last degree. Some had lost their wits and memory. . . . They advanced slowly, weakly, with their eyes upon the ground, without a smile, without a hand waved or a voice raised in response to the cheers with which they were greeted; and, as the waiting people saw what they were like, the cheers themselves died away, and the awful procession went on in silence. I say, unhesitatingly, knowing whereof I speak, that nothing but continued and long-sustained neglect and malnutrition would possibly have reduced these men to the condition in which I saw them. Out of one party of 250 over sixty had developed tuberculosis. . . . We mingled and chatted with the Germans on their train. The contrast with the condition of the Russians was almost indescribable. There was not one German prisoner who was not in full uniform, which had been taken from him on his arrival in hospital and carefully kept and returned to him clean on his discharge. All had good boots. The lame were without exception furnished with proper crutches. But most striking of all was the physical well-being and good spirits of the whole party. They were well nourished. They laughed and joked with us and among themselves. It was evident that they had been treated with care, and, as convalescents, were being sent home as physically fit as they could be made. . . . I know that, if the Germans had hitherto throughout this conflict borne themselves, so far as the world knew, with moderation and decency, the sight which I saw at Tornea alone would convince me that they are waging this war as only a brutal and half-civilized people can wage it.”

The occupation of Warsaw compelled von Falkenhayn to decide the difficult problem of his future objective. Two courses were open to him. One was to entrench himself upon the ground he had won, and make the Niemen, the Narev, and the Vistula the front of the central and northern armies. The line of the rivers in German hands could be made of a strength which would defy any Russian counter-advances for many a day. Warsaw, the magazine and depôt of the Grand Duke’s forces, was in his hands; and, though it is easy to overrate the importance of any single city, yet the possession of Warsaw conferred great and obvious advantages. Such a position would paralyze Russian efforts for the immediate future. It would enable him to weaken his armies without danger, and send great contingents westwards. And it would give his troops, weary with three months’ incessant fighting, the opportunity to rest and recruit.

It is probable that this plan had been in the mind of the German Staff during the winter. But the successes of the summer had widened their outlook, and von Falkenhayn began to cherish more spacious projects. The efforts required to win Warsaw had made the Vistula almost impossible as a halting-ground. The Archduke Joseph and von Mackensen were already north of the Lublin railway; the right wing was pushed almost to the Sereth; while in the far north von Eichhorn was well east of the Niemen, and von Below,^[1] south of Riga, had pressed forward in a deep salient towards Dvinsk. To be content with a defensive line on the rivers meant the sacrifice of these substantial gains, and the holding of a long concave front. It was desirable to straighten out the position by advancing the centre.

But the chance of a crushing, perhaps a decisive, offensive was what dominated the German mind. The Russian armies were clearly in a perilous case. With Warsaw fallen, the southern railway cut, and the Narev line crumbling, it seemed beyond human power to extricate the centre from the narrow apex of the salient. Meanwhile, in the north, von Below and von Eichhorn were almost within striking distance of the Petrograd railway; and, once this was cut in the neighbourhood of Dvinsk and Vilna, the whole Russian front must split into isolated and unrelated groups. It was a sovereign chance to compel a field battle, in which more than one of the armies of Russia should find destruction.

There was much debate during these days about the German objective. Some said Petrograd, the capital; some said Kiev and the arsenals and iron-fields of Southern Russia. But it is improbable that either of these ends was directly envisaged in the German plan. They sought a simpler and far more valuable result. Between Riga and Petrograd lay three hundred miles of forest and meres, served by one railroad. The same distance separated Tarnopol and Kiev, though the country there was better suited for the movements of great armies. In a few weeks the autumn rains would begin, and in two months the first snows of winter. The time was too short to reach Petrograd or Kiev, even had these been the gains that promised most. The Grand Duke Nicholas might yield them both and fall farther back into the heart of the country, and Russia would still be unconquered. But let her armies be beaten in detail in the next month, and Russia would indeed be vanquished. She was already in an almost hopeless position, with no great base near, with slender communications, with her ranks terribly depleted, and with her old insufficiency of equipment unrelieved. The fruit was almost within the German grasp. One great effort, as forecast by the Kaiser in his telegram to the Queen of Greece, must bring about that decisive victory, so far unknown in the war, which would put the defeated side out of action.

To realize what such a victory would mean to Germany we must grasp her true policy, steadily pursued behind the fog created by filibustering journalists and the megalomania of her politicians. She wanted peace, but a peace in which she should condescend upon her opponents and dictate the terms. For this an overwhelming military success was necessary. She would not sue for peace, she would offer it, and for such a rôle she must come garlanded with the laurels of an indisputable triumph. She still misunderstood the temper of Russia. She still believed that her zealous agents, working through the baser elements of the bureaucracy, could induce the empire of the Tsar to cry off from a war in which it had suffered so grievously, and had borne a burden unknown to the Allies in the West. She believed that a refusal of peace would mean a Russian revolution. It is probable that Germany intended to offer terms which neutral opinion might consider as reasonable, and which she herself regarded as magnanimous. On the surface it looked as if her purpose was likely to succeed.

But, supposing that the impossible happened, and the Russian armies escaped without a débâcle, the German position would be greatly improved by an advance. It would give them Brest Litovski, the last of the Polish fortresses. It would give them the marshes of the Pripet as a great piece of dead ground in their line. It would still further disintegrate the Russian forces, till they fell from an extended front into groups, from groups to armies, and from armies to disjointed corps. Further, there was a position which could be held for the winter, and which offered greater security than even the river line of the Vistula. There is a lateral railway running south from Riga by way of Dvinsk and Vilna to Kovno. If this was held, and the Austrian right wing was firm on the Dniester, a winter front would be gained shorter than the old one by four hundred miles, and with communications certainly no worse than those of Western Poland. Again, such a line would give Germany complete possession not only of Russian Poland, but of all the territory which Polish nationalism had ever claimed. Now, the unity of the Polish race had always been the central ideal of Polish patriots. Since the war began the wisest brains among them had been loyal to Russia, believing that only Russia could give them once more a racial and territorial solidarity. But with Galicia and Russian Poland, as well as Posen, in German hands, the allegiance of the Poles would be sorely tried. Germany alone, it might then appear, could implement her promises and give reality to their aspirations. Besides, there was the vast Jewish residuum of the Polish population, without national tradition, which might be trusted to worship the rising sun.

Fortune seemed to smile happily on the German purpose on that day when Prince Leopold entered Warsaw. Russia had one pressing duty before her—to extricate her armies and refuse at all costs to be driven into a field battle. Her first business was to get her troops out of the Warsaw salient. That meant that while her centre fought constant rearguard actions against Prince Leopold’s advance, her right centre must check von Gallwitz and von Scholtz on the Narev, and her left centre the advance of von Woyrsch towards Lukow, till such time as her 2nd Army had fallen back east of Siedlce. She had left the great fortress of Novo Georgievsk to hinder the use of the Vistula for German supplies, in the hope that it would hold out for at least a month. In that event the loss of its garrison of 20,000 and its many guns would be justified. Once the apex of the salient was clear, the retirement would be on Brest Litovski; and to enable her to effect this in good order, the northern fortresses of Ossowietz and Kovno must resist till, at any rate, the end of August. Otherwise, in the difficult country around the Bobr and the Upper Niemen, there was a chance of more than one corps being cut off. It was already clear that the Upper and Middle Bug could not be held long against the thrust of von Mackensen. Behind Brest Litovski lay the marshes of the Pripet, and to withdraw through that area meant a stiff holding battle around Brest, for the withdrawal would be slow and intricate.

Russia had two great perils immediately before her. One of her armies or army groups might be enveloped, especially on the right flank, where von Below and von Eichhorn had already driven in deep salients. Or the onslaughts of the German centre, aided by von Mackensen’s drive north-eastwards, might force her to fight west of the Pripet marshes. If an army has narrow and congested communications behind it, and the enemy presses hard, it may be compelled against its will to accept battle.

The extraordinary difficulties of Russia’s position must be understood if we are to do justice to the splendour of her achievement. Let us look at her immediate task—the retirement from Warsaw to the Bug.

Ivangorod had fallen on 4th August to General vonAug. 4-9. Koevess. To defend it would have been folly, for it was wholly surrounded, and it commanded no vital route of communication. The guns and munitions were removed by the railway to Lukow, and only the husk was left for the conqueror.

Ivangorod.

The rearguards of the Russian centre were still in Praga, the Warsaw suburb east of the Vistula; but by Monday, 9th August, they were driven out, and Prince Leopold could begin the bridging of the river. In spite of the ruin of the bridges both there and at Ivangorod, the Germans were not slow to find a means of crossing. Using the big thousand-ton barges, which are the staple of the Vistula navigation, they constructed pontoons, over which they ran their railways, branches on an incline connecting with the permanent track. A line on barges seems an unsatisfactory expedient, but till a few years ago this was the way in which trains from Karlsruhe crossed the Rhine into Alsace. Those who have made that journey will remember that the train scarcely slackened speed, and that there was no swaying of the bridge; only as the weight fell on it, it sank very slightly, sending a wave up and down the river. Probably with Prince Leopold’s force there were many men who each spring had helped in the construction of the floating bridge at Maxau, and each winter had taken it to pieces.

The main advance of Prince Leopold beyondAug. 10. the Vistula began on Tuesday, 10th August. It was stubbornly opposed, and made slow progress. The Russian resistance in this section was wholly conditioned by what was happening on the flanks. They dared not delay one hour longer than the time permitted them to escape from the pressure of von Gallwitz on the north and von Woyrsch on the south. Had there been no such coercion, Prince Leopold might have been held up indefinitely, for it would appear that his army was the weakest in the German dispositions. But the thing had become almost a mathematical problem. So soon as von Gallwitz and von Woyrsch reached certain points, the Russian centre must break off the action and retire to a position which would allow them to evade outflanking.

We do not yet know who was the brilliant soldier responsible for the tactical handling of the Russian centre; but whoever he was, he was beyond doubt a master of his craft. It cannot have been Alexeiev, who was in charge of the strategy of the whole northern group of armies, and had his hands full with the threats to Kovno and Riga. It was some general who had borrowed Alexeiev’s mantle, and learned his supernatural coolness and calculation in extremity. The Staff work, too, must have been perfect.

The gravest peril came from the Narev front,Aug. 6-11. where the remnants of Plehve’s army were working as if to a time schedule. Von Gallwitz, it will be remembered, had first crossed the river on the 26th of July, after crushing the resistance of the fortified bridgeheads at Pultusk and Rozhan. He was held in the wooded country between the Bug and the Narev, and was not able to force the crossing on a broad front. On 6th August Novo Georgievsk was completely isolated, and von Gallwitz’s right wing took Sierok and Zegrje, at the junction of the Bug and the Narev. On the 10th von Scholtz stormed Lomza, and next day von Gallwitz, moving east between the Bug and the Narev, had won a very dangerous position, no less than the junction where the central line to Ostrolenka joins the main Warsaw-Petrograd railway, a few miles from where the latter crosses the Bug. This meant that the whole Russian front on the Narev and Bug west of this point must give way. They had destroyed the Bug railway bridge, and fallen back, apparently in good order, by the Bialystok railway, and by the lateral Malkin-Siedlce railway, which was still in Russian hands.

On the south von Woyrsch had joined handsAug. 10. with von Mackensen on 10th August. Moving north-east, he took the railway junction of Lukow two days later. By that time the Russian centre was in Siedlce, ready for a further retreat as the enemy flanks closed in.

Sketch showing the situation on August 12 (eve of the retirement of the Russian Centre from Siedlce).

On the 12th von Gallwitz was at Zambrovo,Aug. 12-13. south-east of Lomza, an important junction of five roads. His right wing was at Andrychov, just north of the Petrograd line. Siedlce and the lateral railway were clearly no longer tenable, especially as von Scholtz, on von Gallwitz’s left, had crossed the Narev at its junction with the Bobr and was threatening Bialystok. On the 13th the Russian centre fell back from Siedlce and Sokolov into the profound forests which stretch towards the Bug. The worst peril was over, for the narrows of the salient had been cleared. It remained to hold the ground in front of Brest Litovski till the flanks could straighten themselves into line with the centre.

That centre by the 14th was at Losice, some twentyAug. 14-16. miles east of Siedlce, with its right on the railway running north-east from Siedlce and its left on the Lukow-Brest railway. There for the moment it was safe, but to north and south the position was precarious; for next day von Mackensen, pushing north along the Cholm-Brest line, took Vlodava on the Bug, and von Woyrsch was advancing along both sides of the Lukow-Brest lines. In the north the left wing of von Gallwitz’s army had forced the crossing of the river Nurzec, which enters the Bug about fifteen miles west of the place where that river is crossed by the main Petrograd railway. Next day Prince Leopold’s left crossed the Bug at Drohiczyn, which brought it in touch with von Gallwitz’s right, while its centre took Biala on the Krzna River, and von Mackensen from the south moved down the Bug from Vlodava. Already the enemy were within twenty miles of the fortress of Brest. It was time for the Russian centre to fall back on Brest, and for the High Command to decide whether that stronghold should be surrendered or defended.

Situation of the Russian Centre, August 16, 1915.

It is probable that the Grand Duke’s first intention was to hold Brest and the line of the Upper Bug. The railway from Brest to Bialystok would give good lateral communication behind the fronts. Already, by the 15th, this line was endangered by von Mackensen’s advance from Vlodava, which gave the Germans the mastery of the Bug above the fortress, as well as the southern part of the lateral line. But the essential condition of the maintenance of the position was the Russian control of the Upper Niemen, and especially of the fortress of Kovno. There Napoleon had crossed the river, and there ran the main line from East Prussia to Vilna. Ossowietz would be a point in this front, which would run roughly from Brest north by Bielsk and Ossowietz to the Niemen. But if Kovno fell it was untenable, for that would give von Eichhorn a chance of a flanking movement which might threaten the right of the Russian centre, and might even cut it off for good from the armies in Courland.

The importance of Kovno was even greater inAug. 12. relation to the situation on the Russian right. Tukkum and Mitau had fallen to the army of von Lauenstein, whose clouds of cavalry were now scouring the valley of the Aa. Von Below was well east of Shavli by the end of July, and by 12th August was at Poniebitz, moving towards Dvinsk by the Libau-Dvinsk railway. That day the Russian right made a strong counter-attack upon von Below, and another attack checked von Lauenstein on the Aa. If this movement could be continued, or even if the positions won could be maintained, then Dvinsk and Vilna and the vital section of the Petrograd railway between them were safe, and with them the whole of the Russian right flank.

Kovno.

But if Kovno fell, various awkward consequences would ensue. The Niemen below the town was already in German hands. Kovno, Olita, and Grodno were the three fortresses of the Upper Niemen, and the first in the present situation was the most vital. Its loss would imperil the other two; it would make the position of the Russian armies on the Bobr an acute salient; it would give the enemy a direct route to Vilna and the Petrograd line. Above all, it would place the Germans in rear of the Russian position on the Sventa, which enters the Niemen on the right bank a little below the town.

Kovno, an old city with a flourishing trade in grain and timber, was defended by eighteen forts, five on the east safeguarding the Niemen, four on the north protecting the Vilna bridge, and nine on the south and west. The Russians had no time, any more than at Ivangorod and Brest, to defend it by those earthworks in a wide perimeter which were the salvation of Verdun. The end of July saw von Eichhorn’s army close on Kovno from the east, and on the day that Warsaw was abandoned the bombardment began. For twelve days a concentration of heavy artillery rained shells on the fortifications, while the infantry struggled for the outworks. The factories were stripped of machinery, and the Government records sent east, for soon it began to appear that the 16-inch guns of the East Prussian fortresses must speedily make an end of the defence. It was urgent that the place should be held till the latest moment for the security of the rest of the Russian line, and for twelve desperate days the garrison stuck to their post. A Russian eye-witness of the siege has described the bombardment, which took place to the accompaniment of wild weather. “Guns of every calibre were employed here, and the noise they made was beyond all description. They fired at the Russian fortress without a stop, and bombarded the position back and front of the fortress incessantly. One would have thought no living beings could stand it, and yet the Russians were there and returned the fire. It seemed to us that the Russians had concentrated all their artillery around Kovno, for their reply was stupendous. . . . All night the guns roared and the lightning played in terrible fury, as if a deadly storm had concentrated itself on the town. Three gigantic Russian searchlights added to the vivid grandeur of the scene.”

On Sunday, 15th August, the end was very near.Aug. 15-17. A German corps under von Litzmann carried a small fort at the south-west corner, and pushed through the gap thus created. The forts by this time were in ruins, and on the night of Tuesday, the 17th, the heroic garrison was overwhelmed. The eastern works resisted to the last, and a portion of their garrison got away. The Germans claimed 20,000 prisoners and over 200 guns. When a forlorn hope is destroyed there is little chance of saving men and artillery

Sketch Map showing the possible Russian line of defence that was made untenable by the fall of Kovno and the German menace in the Baltic provinces.

The fall of Kovno—unexpectedly, for it wasAug. 18. counted upon for a long resistance—revived the peril which for a moment seemed to have passed by. It allowed von Eichhorn to transport his army across the Niemen, and to outflank the Russians on the Sventa, and it put the Bobr armies and the force holding Ossowietz in a position of the gravest danger. A retirement on the right centre was necessary to avoid envelopment, and no less urgent was a retirement in the centre. For on the 18th von Gallwitz cut the Brest-Bialystok railway at Bielsk, thereby isolating Brest on the north. That same day Prince Leopold crossed the Bug at Mielnik, east of his previous crossing at Drohiczyn, and thus secured for a line of advance and supply the railway which runs north-east from Siedlce, and traverses the Bug between these two crossing-points. Farther south von Mackensen was east of the Bug, north of Vlodava, and moving to cut the Brest-Moscow railway behind the fortress. Prince Leopold’s right was that evening attacking the western forts of Brest itself.

Next day came a fresh and unexpected blow.Aug. 19. The siege of Novo Georgievsk had been entrusted to von Beseler, the conqueror of Antwerp, who for many months had disappeared from the war bulletins. The Russian Staff assumed a lengthy defence, and a consequent hold-up to German communications. But the great cannon which had battered down Liége and Namur carried Novo Georgievsk in something under three weeks. Twenty thousand of the garrison were taken, and over 700 guns, most of which had first been rendered useless. The cyphers and maps were carried into Russia by a brilliant feat of air-work.

Novo Georgievsk.

Brest alone remained now of the Polish Triangle, and it was very clear that Brest was no continuing city. The first Russian line of retreat was probably on a front from Riga through Kovno, Grodno, Bialystok, to the Upper Bug. But Kovno had fallen, and von Mackensen had turned the river line in the south. A farther retreat was needed, and once more the duty revived of extricating the weaker and most critical part by desperate holding battles. But the task was now of a somewhat different nature. The worst salient had been cleared, and the problem concerned itself with the manœuvring of army groups so as to avoid envelopment while moving through exceptionally arduous country. For behind the Russian centre lay the great marshes of the Pripet, which must divide the front into sharply defined army groups.

Brest Litovski.

The group system had already begun. We have seen that the Eastern front, unlike the West, was never without its gaps. Ever since the abandonment of Warsaw the Russian forces were arranged in groups, not merely for administrative purposes, but because a continuous line was impossible. Ewarts commanded the central group, Ivanov the southern, and Alexeiev the northern. These groups were still in touch, but they were separated by substantial territorial gaps. Against the three Russian commands were arrayed three German army systems. Von Hindenburg had the northern, and under him were the armies of von Lauenstein, von Below, von Eichhorn, von Scholtz, and von Gallwitz. Prince Leopold led the centre, having with him von Woyrsch; while von Mackensen had the southern command, including the armies of Boehm-Ermolli, von Bothmer, and von Pflanzer. It would appear that, ever since Warsaw fell, the bulk of the forces of the Archduke Joseph Ferdinand and von Linsingen had been kept as a general reserve.

While Russia grappled with the urgencies of her land retirement there came a sudden threat on the north from the sea. In March a German squadron of battleships and torpedo-craft had shelled the coast villages of Courland. In the early days of June there had been fighting below Gothland and the Gulf of Riga, in which the Russians lost the mine-layer Yenesei and the Germans the transport Hindenburg and a destroyer. Russian torpedo boats engaged German cruisers off Windau on 30th June, and there was an action off Gothland on 2nd July. These activities forewarned the Russian Baltic Fleet, under Admiral Kannin, that at any moment an attempt might be made to assist the armies by a landing of troops on the Riga shore. Such a landing, if successful, would have turned the Russian right and led at once to the fall of Riga. But, for a landing to be possible, the mastery of the sea must first be secured. It was Germany’s business first of all to sink or blockade the Russian fleet. Till that was done any landing was the height of rashness, more especially when we remember that her object was not to gain a port but to establish an advanced base for her extreme left, and such a base involved a secure and continuous passage for her transports from Koenigsberg and Danzig.

Gulf of Riga.

On Sunday, 10th August, an attack was madeAug. 10-16. on a large scale. A German fleet, consisting of nine of the older battleships, twelve cruisers, and a destroyer flotilla, attempted to force the southern channel which leads to the Gulf of Riga. The attempt was defeated, probably by the Russian submarines and smaller craft. But on 16th August it was renewed with determination. The opening of the Gulf is defended by a group of islands, of which Oesel is the largest, with the smaller islets of Dago, Mohn, and Wormso stretching to the north-east. The chief entrance, the only one practicable for ships of heavy draught, lies between Oesel and the mainland, but there is another east of Mohn through the northern Archipelago. Riga, on the mouth of the Dvina, lies at the southern end of the Gulf; and on a bay on the eastern shore, about half-way as the crow flies between Riga and Reval, is the little port of Pernau.

On 16th August the German fleet engaged theAug. 17-20. Russian at the mouth of both channels. The attack was repulsed; but next day a thick fog settled on the water, and the enemy was able to sweep the mines from the entrance. The Russian light craft retired into the Gulf, while the larger units remained outside, since in such weather a general action was impossible. The Germans moved in, apparently under the impression that the Russians had withdrawn from the Gulf altogether. On the 19th they began their preparation for a landing at Pernau, a port chosen because it was unfortified, and was on the road to Petrograd. Four very large flat-bottomed barges laden with troops moved inshore, and on the 20th attempted to land. The conditions were favourable only on the assumption that there was no enemy craft near, for the shoal water forbade the ships in support to approach the shore. It was the opportunity of the Russian light craft, and quickly they seized it. The whole landing force was captured or destroyed.

Meantime the Russian fleet had joined battleAug. 21. throughout the length of the Gulf. The heaviest fighting was in Mohn Sound, where the retreating German vessels were caught by the Russian destroyers. One old gunboat, the Sivoutch, engaged a German cruiser which was escorting the torpedo craft. The action began at a range of about 1,200 yards. “The Sivoutch,” said the Russian Admiralty report, “wrapped in flames, and on fire fore and aft, continued to answer shot for shot until she went down, having previously sunk an enemy torpedo boat.” It was the only serious Russian casualty. Eight German destroyers and two cruisers were either sunk or put out of action, a submarine was driven ashore, and it seems probable that an auxiliary cruiser was also destroyed. On the 21st the Germans had evacuated the Gulf.

The action on the German side was an example of a strategy which ignored the first conditions of naval warfare. Any attempt to land till the Gulf was clear and strongly held was an invitation to disaster. It was a superb chance for the employment of smaller craft, and Russia, strong in this class, used her strength to brilliant purpose. Coming after the terrible crisis of the great retreat, the success at Riga was of incalculable value in raising the spirits of the nation. Its practical effects were as great as its moral; for had the Pernau landing succeeded, and an advanced German base been established there, the defence of the Dvina would have been nullified and the retirement of the Russian right must have been gravely confused.

About this time there were naval activities elsewhereAug. 19. in the Baltic. The German battle cruiser Moltke, a sister ship of the Goeben, which took part in the raid on Scarborough, and was damaged in the battle of 24th January, was torpedoed by a British submarine under Commander Noel Laurence. She was struck in the bows, and, though she succeeded in escaping, there was reason to believe that she had been put out of action for some time. On 19th August the submarine E 13, under Lieutenant-Commander Layton, ran ashore on the Danish island of Saltholm. She was given twenty-four hours to get off by the Danish authorities, but while so engaged was shelled and torpedoed by two German destroyers from a distance of 300 yards. The crew, who behaved with great gallantry, took to the water, where they were fired on with machine guns and shrapnel. This dastardly outrage, which caused the loss of fifteen lives, was in defiance not only of the laws of war but of the ordinary decencies of mankind. It roused profound anger among the Danes, who rescued the survivors and sent them back to England. One Danish torpedo boat steamed between the submarine and the German destroyers, and compelled the latter to cease fire. The campaign revealed no uglier example of the strange code of honour which obtained among the parvenus of the sea.

The convening of the Imperial Duma on 1stAug. 1. August, while the fate of Warsaw was still unknown, was a wise step on the part of the Tsar and his advisers. Defeat had brought no weakening to the Russian people, but it had brought perplexity, and, for a moment, confusion. The purge we have spoken of in an earlier chapter was in process; many high reputations had been dimmed; suspicion had fallen upon high quarters; and gossip was busy with a thousand tongues. It was fitting that the determination of the great people behind the bureaucrats should be made plain to the world—that determination so slow to kindle, but once inflamed, as constant as the brightness of a star. For this purpose the Duma was the only mechanism. It was the representative, along with the army, of the whole nation. It met to register the fact of a purified and reconstructed Government, and to renew its oath of resolution.

The war was prolific in eloquence. M. Viviani and Mr. Lloyd George made notable speeches; but the nations were weary of words, and the stimulants had lost their power. But there are some speeches which have almost the quality of deeds. Such have been the fiery orations of Chatham and Gambetta, the homely good sense of Cromwell, the noble simplicity of Washington, the grave elevation of Lincoln. Such, too, was the address of M. Rodzianko, the President of the Duma. His words moved his hearers to a strange exaltation, and rang throughout the land from the Dnieper to the Pacific. He drew a picture of the Army—“the living sword of our native land, menacing the foe, but humble before God.” He reviewed the events of the year, and spoke words of comfort to the patriots of Poland. The war, he said, was no longer a duel of armies but of peoples, and victory could only be won if civilians and soldiers alike wrought for the common purpose. “Our duty—sparing neither strength nor time nor means—is to set to work without delay. Let each one give his labour into the treasury of popular might. Let those who are rich, let those who are able, contribute to the common welfare. The Army and the Fleet have set each of us an example of duty dauntlessly fulfilled. They have done all that man may do; our turn has come.” For victory, he pointed out, a change of spirit was needful in the Government, and the change must involve a new trust in the people.

In his closing words, pointing to General Ruzsky, who was among his hearers, and to the many wounded officers around him, he appealed to the antique spirit of the nation:—

“Such is the task which has now risen before us in its giant stature. Remember that on the issue of our labours for the assistance of the Army depends the greatness of Russia, purged and liberated. If they fail, there is nothing before her but humiliation and sorrow. But they cannot fail. Our great Mother will never be enslaved. Russia will fight to the last, till she has broken the sordid might of her foe. Some day he will fall, and peace will descend upon us.

“Representatives of the people, at this critical moment of our destiny we must take comfort from the valour of our hearts. We must rise to the great traditions of our race. The country awaits your words. Cast out vain fears. We shall endure to the end, to the last man who can hold a sword. Our strength comes from our trust in the incomparable soldiers of our blood.

“In thee we trust, Holy Russia. We trust in the inexhaustible riches of thy spirit. We speak for the whole people, for every nook and cranny of our ancestral soil, and in its name we greet our glorious Army and our gallant Fleet. Know, heroic defenders, that Russia, united, compact, burning with a single wish and a single thought, will oppose to her foes the steel breasts of her sons.”

The resolution adopted by the Duma, in its frankness and confidence, may be said to mark a new epoch in the constitutional history of Russia:—

THE CAMPAIGN IN GALLIPOLI.

SIR IAN HAMILTON’S SECOND DISPATCH.

From the General Commanding, Mediterranean Expeditionary Force,

To the Secretary of State for War, War Office, London, S.W.

My Lord,

At the close of the ten days and ten nights described in my first dispatch our troops had forced their way forward for some 5,000 yards from the landing places at the point of the peninsula. Opposite them lay the Turks, who since their last repulse had fallen back about half a mile upon previously prepared redoubts and entrenchments. Both sides had drawn heavily upon their stock of energy and munitions, but it seemed clear that whichever could first summon up spirit to make another push must secure at least several hundreds of yards of the debatable ground between the two fronts. And several hundred yards, whatever it might mean to the enemy, was a matter of life or death to a force crowded together under gun fire on so narrow a tongue of land. Such was the situation on the 5th of May, the date last mentioned in my dispatch of the 20th of that month.

On that day I determined to continue my advance, feeling certain that even if my tired troops could not carry the formidable opposing lines they would at least secure the use of the intervening ground. Orders were forthwith issued for an attack.

DISPOSITIONS ON 5TH MAY.

The many urgent calls for reinforcements made during the previous critical fighting had forced me to disorganize and mix together several of the formations in the southern group, to the extent even of the French on our right having a British battalion holding their own extremest right. For the purposes of the impending fight it became therefore necessary to create temporarily a Composite Division, consisting of the 2nd Australian and New Zealand Infantry Brigades (withdrawn for the purpose from the northern section), together with a Naval Brigade formed of the Plymouth and Drake Battalions. The 29th Division was reconstituted into four brigades—i.e., the 88th and 87th Brigades, the Lancashire Fusilier Brigade (T.F.), and the 29th Indian Infantry Brigade. The French Corps Expéditionnaire was reinforced by the 2nd Naval Brigade, and the new Composite Division formed my General Reserve.

The 29th Division, whose left rested on the coast about three miles north-east of Cape Tekke, was ordered to direct, its right moving on the south-east edge of Krithia, while the Corps Expéditionnaire with the 2nd Naval Brigade had assigned to them for their first point of attack the commanding ridge running from north to south above the Kereves Dere. A foothold upon this ridge was essential, as its capture would ensure a safe pivot on which the 29th Division could swing in making any further advance. Communication between these two sections of the attack was to be maintained by the Plymouth and Drake battalions.

THE ATTACK BEGINS.

During the three days (6th-8th May) our troops were destined to be very severely tried. They were about to attack a series of positions scientifically selected in advance which although not yet joined up into one line of entrenchment, were already strengthened by works on their more important tactical features.

The 29th Division led off at 11 a.m., the French corps followed suit at 11.30 a.m. Every yard was stubbornly contested; some Brigades were able to advance, others could do no more than maintain themselves. Positions were carried and held, other positions were carried and lost; but, broadly, our gunners kept lengthening the fuses of their shrapnel, and by 1.30 p.m. the line had been pushed forward two to three hundred yards. Here and there this advance included a Turkish trench, but generally speaking the main enemy position still lay some distance ahead of our leading companies.

By 4.30 p.m. it became clear that we should make no more progress that day. The French Corps were held up by a strong field work. They had made good a point upon the crest line of the lower slope of the Kereves Dere ridge, but there they had come under a fire so galling that they were unable, as it turned out, to entrench until nightfall. The 88th Brigade could not carry a clump of fir trees to their front: company after company made the perilous essay, but the wood, swept by hidden machine guns, proved a veritable deathtrap. The Lancashire Fusiliers Brigade also were only just barely holding on, and were suffering heavy losses from those same concealed machine guns. The troops were ordered to entrench themselves in line and link up their flanks on either side.

At night, save for rifle fire, there was quiet along the whole British line. On the right a determined bayonet charge was made upon the French, who gave ground for the moment, but recovered it again.

THE MOVEMENT ON THE LEFT.

Next morning (the 7th May) we opened with shrapnel upon the enemy’s trenches opposite our extreme left, and at 10 a.m. the Lancashire Fusiliers Brigade began the attack. But our artillery had not been able to locate the cleverly sited German machine-gun batteries, whose fire rendered it physically impossible to cross that smooth glacis. Next to the right the 88th Brigade swept forward, and the I/5th Royal Scots, well supported by artillery fire, carried the fir trees with a rush. This time it was discovered that not only the enfilading machine guns had made the wood so difficult to hold. Amongst the branches of the trees Turkish snipers were perched, sometimes upon small wooden platforms. When these were brought down the surroundings became much healthier. The Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers, of the 87th Brigade, were pushed up to support the left of the 88th, and all seemed well, when, at 1.20 p.m., a strong Turkish counter-attack drove us back out of the fir clump. As an offset to this check the Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers captured three Turkish trenches, and a second battalion of the 87th Brigade, the King’s Own Scottish Borderers, was sent forward on the left to make these good.

At 3 p.m. the Lancashire Fusiliers Brigade again reported they were definitely held up by the accurate cross-fire of batteries of machine guns concealed in the scrub on the ridge between the ravine and the sea—batteries which also enfiladed the left flank of the 88th Brigade as it endeavoured to advance in the centre. Unless we were to acquiesce in a stalemate the moment for our effort had arrived, and a general attack was ordered for 4.45 p.m., the whole of the 87th Brigade to reinforce the 88th Brigade, and the New Zealand Brigade to support it.

THE GENERAL ATTACK.

Despite their exhaustion and their losses the men responded with a will. The whole force, French and British, rose simultaneously and made a rush forward. All along the front we made good a certain amount of ground, excepting only on our extreme left. For the third time British bayonets carried the fir clump in our centre, and when darkness fell the whole line (excepting always the left) had gained from 200 to 300 yards, and had occupied or passed over the first line of Turkish trenches.

The troops were now worn out; the new lines needed consolidating, and it was certain that fresh reinforcements were reaching the Turks. Balancing the actual state of my own troops against the probable condition of the Turks, I decided to call upon the men to make one more push before the new enemy forces could get into touch with their surroundings.

Orders were therefore issued to dig in at sundown on the line gained, to maintain that line against counter-attack, and to prepare to advance again next morning. The Lancashire Fusiliers Brigade was withdrawn into reserve, and its place on the left was taken by the Brigade of New Zealanders.

General Headquarters were shifted to an entrenchment on a hill in rear of the left of our line. Under my plan for the fresh attack the New Zealand Brigade was to advance through the line held during the night by the 88th Brigade and press on towards Krithia. Simultaneously, the 87th Brigade was to threaten the works on the west of the ravine, whilst endeavouring, by means of parties of scouts and volunteers, to steal patches of ground from the areas dominated by the German machine guns.

THE BATTLE OF 8TH MAY.

At 10.15 a.m. heavy fire from ships and batteries was opened on the whole front, and at 10.30 a.m. the New Zealand Brigade began to move, meeting with strenuous opposition from the enemy, who had received his reinforcements. Supported by the fire of the batteries and the machine guns of the 88th Brigade, they pushed forward on the right and advanced their centre beyond the fir trees, but could make little further progress. By 1.30 p.m. about 200 yards had been gained beyond the previously most advanced trenches of the 88th Brigade.

At this hour the French Corps reported they could not advance up the crest of the spur west of Kereves Dere till further progress was made by the British.

At 4 p.m. I gave orders that the whole line, reinforced by the 2nd Australian Brigade, would fix bayonets, slope arms, and move on Krithia precisely at 5.30 p.m.

At 5.15 p.m. the ships’ guns and our heavy artillery bombarded the enemy’s position for a quarter of an hour, and at 5.30 p.m. the field guns opened a hot shrapnel fire to cover the infantry advance.

The co-operation of artillery and infantry in this attack was perfect, the timing of the movement being carried out with great precision. Some of the companies of the New Zealand regiments did not get their orders in time, but acting on their own initiative they pushed on as soon as the heavy howitzers ceased firing, thus making the whole advance simultaneous.

STEADY BRITISH ADVANCE.

The steady advance of the British could be followed by the sparkle of their bayonets until the long lines entered the smoke clouds. The French at first made no move, then, their drums beating and bugles sounding the charge, they suddenly darted forward in a swarm of skirmishers, which seemed in one moment to cover the whole southern face of the ridge of the Kereves Dere. Against these the Turkish gunners now turned their heaviest pieces, and as the leading groups stormed the first Turkish redoubt the ink-black bursts of high explosive shells blotted out both assailants and assailed. The trial was too severe for the Senegalese tirailleurs. They recoiled. They were rallied. Another rush forward, another repulse, and then a small supporting column of French soldiers was seen silhouetted against the sky as they charged upwards along the crest of the ridge of the Kereves Dere, whilst elsewhere it grew so dark that the whole of the battlefield became a blank.

Not until next morning did any reliable detail come to hand of what had happened. The New Zealanders’ firing line had marched over the cunningly concealed enemy’s machine guns without seeing them, and these, reopening on our supports as they came up, caused them heavy losses. But the first line pressed on and arrived within a few yards of the Turkish trenches which had been holding up our advances beyond the fir wood. There they dug themselves in.

The Australian Brigade had advanced through the Composite Brigade, and, in spite of heavy losses from shrapnel, machine-gun, and rifle fire, had progressed from 300 to 400 yards.

The determined valour shown by these two brigades, the New Zealand Brigade, under Brigadier-General F. E. Johnston, and the 2nd Australian Infantry Brigade, under Brigadier-General the Hon. J. W. McCay, is worthy of particular praise. Their losses were correspondingly heavy, but in spite of fierce counter-attacks by numerous fresh troops they stuck to what they had won with admirable tenacity.

On the extreme left the 87th Brigade, under Major-General W. R. Marshall, made a final and especially gallant effort to advance across the smooth, bullet-swept area between the ravine and the sea; but once more the enemy machine guns thinned the ranks of the leading companies of the South Wales Borderers, and again there was nothing for it but to give ground. But when night closed in the men of the 87th Brigade of their own accord asked to be led forward, and achieved progress to the extent of just about 200 yards. During the darkness the British troops everywhere entrenched themselves on the line gained.

On the right the French column, last seen as it grew dark, had stormed and still held the redoubt round which the fighting had centred until then. Both General d’Amade and General Simonin had been present in person with this detachment, and had rallied the Senegalese and encouraged the white troops in their exploit. With their bayonets these brave fellows of the 8th Colonials had inflicted exceedingly heavy losses upon the enemy.

The French troops whose actions have hitherto been followed belonged, all of them, to the 2nd Division. But beyond the crest of the ridge the valley of the Kereves Dere lies dead to any one occupying my post of command. And in this area the newly-arrived Brigade of the French 1st Division had been also fighting hard. Here they had advanced simultaneously with the 2nd Division and achieved a fine success in their first rush, which was jeopardized when a battalion of Zouaves was forced to give way under a heavy bombardment. But, as in the case of the 2nd Division, the other battalions of the 1st Regiment de Marche d’Afrique, under Lieutenant-Colonel Nieger, restored the situation, and in the end the Division carried and held two complete lines of Turkish redoubts and trenches.

THE RESULT OF THE THREE DAYS’ BATTLE.

The net result of the three days’ fighting has been a gain of 600 yards on the right of the British line and 400 yards on the left and centre. The French had captured all the ground in front of the Farm Zjimmerman, as well as a redoubt, for the possession of which there had been obstinate fighting during the whole of the past three days.

This may not seem very much, but actually more had been won than at first meets the eye. The German leaders of the Turks were quick to realize the fact. From nightfall till dawn on the 9th-10th efforts were made everywhere to push us back. A specially heavy attack was made upon the French, supported by a hot cannonade and culminating in a violent hand-to-hand conflict in front of the Brigade Simonin. Everywhere the assailants were repulsed, and now for the first time I felt that we had planted a fairly firm foothold upon the point of the Gallipoli Peninsula.

Meanwhile in the Northern Zone also the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps had strengthened their grip on Turkish soil. Whilst in the south we had been attacking and advancing, they had been defending and digging themselves more and more firmly into those cliffs on which it had seemed at first that their foothold was so precarious.

On the 11th May, the first time for eighteen days and nights, it was found possible to withdraw the 29th Division from the actual firing line and to replace it by the 29th Indian Infantry Brigade and by the 42nd Division, which had completed its disembarkation two days previously. The withdrawal gave no respite from shells, but at least the men were, most nights, enabled to sleep.

THE BEGINNING OF SIEGE WARFARE.

The moment lent itself to reflection, and during this breathing space I was able to realize we had now nearly reached the limit of what could be attained by mingling initiative with surprise. The enemy was as much in possession of my numbers and dispositions as I was in possession of their first line of defence; the opposing fortified fronts stretched parallel from sea to straits; there was little scope left now, either at Achi Baba or at Kaba Tepe, for tactics which would fling flesh and blood battalions against lines of unbroken barbed wire. Advances must more and more tend to take the shape of concentrated attacks on small sections of the enemy’s line after full artillery preparation. Siege warfare was soon bound to supersede manœuvre battles in the open. Consolidation and fortification of our front, improvement of approaches, selection of machine-gun emplacements and scientific grouping of our artillery under a centralized control must ere long form the tactical basis of our plans.

So soon, then, as the troops had enjoyed a day or two of comparative rest I divided my front into four sections. On the left was the 29th Division, to which the 29th Indian Infantry Brigade was attached. In the left centre came the 42nd (East Lancashire) Division, on the right centre stood the Royal Naval Division, and at my right was the Corps Expéditionnaire. Thus I secured organization in depth as well as front, enabling each division to arrange for its own reliefs, supports, and reserves, and giving strength for defence as well as attack. Hitherto the piecemeal arrival of reinforcements had forced a hand-to-mouth procedure upon headquarters; now the control became more decentralized.

A GURKHA PERFORMANCE.

Already, before the new system of local efforts had come into working order, the 29th Indian Brigade had led the way towards it by a brilliant little affair on the night of the 10th-11th May. The Turkish right rested upon the steep cliff north-east of “Y” beach, where the King’s Own Scottish Borderers and the Plymouth Battalion, Royal Naval Division, had made their first landing. Since those days the enemy had converted the bluff into a powerful bastion, from which the fire of machine guns had held up the left of our attacks. Two gallant attempts by the Royal Munster Fusiliers and the Royal Dublin Fusiliers to establish a footing on this cliff on the 8th and 9th May had both of them failed.

During the night of the 10th-11th May the 6th Gurkhas started off to seize this bluff. Their scouts descended to the sea, worked their way for some distance through the broken ground along the shore, and crawled hands and knees up the precipitous face of the cliff. On reaching the top they were heavily fired on. As a surprise the enterprise had failed, but as a reconnaissance it proved very useful. On the following day Major-General H. B. Cox, commanding 29th Indian Infantry Brigade, submitted proposals for a concerted attack on this bluff (now called Gurkha Bluff), and arrangements were made with the Navy for co-operation. These arrangements were completed on 12th May; they included a demonstration by the Manchester Brigade of the 42nd Division, and by our artillery and the support of the attack from the sea by the guns of H.M.S. Dublin and H.M.S. Talbot. At 6.30 p.m. on the 12th May the Manchester Brigade and the 29th Divisional artillery opened fire on the Turkish trenches, and under cover of this fire a double company of the I/6th Gurkhas once more crept along the shore and assembled below the bluff. Then, the attention of the Turks being taken up with the bombardment, they swiftly scaled the cliffs and carried the work with a rush. The machine-gun section of the Gurkhas was hurried forward, and at 4.30 a.m. a second double company was pushed up to join the first.

An hour later these two double companies extended and began to entrench to join up their new advanced left diagonally with the right of the trenches previously held by their battalion.

At 6 a.m. a third double company advanced across the open from their former front line of trenches under a heavy rifle and machine-gun fire, and established themselves on this diagonal line between the main ravine on their right and the newly captured redoubt. The 4th double company moved up as a support, and held the former firing line.

Our left flank, which had been firmly held up against all attempts on the 6th-8th, was now, by stratagem, advanced nearly 500 yards. Purchased as it was with comparatively slight losses (21 killed, 92 wounded), this success was due to careful preparation and organization by Major-General H. V. Cox, commanding 29th Indian Infantry Brigade, Lieutenant-Colonel Hon. C. G. Bruce, commanding I/6th Gurkhas, and Major (temporary Lieutenant-Colonel) F. A. Wynter, R.G.A., commanding the Artillery Group supporting the attack. The co-operation of the two cruisers was excellent, and affords another instance of the admirable support by the Navy to our troops.

ARRIVAL OF GENERAL GOURAUD.

On May 14th General Gouraud arrived and took over from General d’Amade the command of the Corps Expéditionnaire. As General d’Amade quitted the shores of the peninsula he received a spontaneous ovation from the British soldiers at work upon the beaches.

The second division of the Corps Expéditionnaire, commanded by General Bailloud, had now completed disembarkation.

From the time of the small local push forward made by the 6th Gurkhas on the night of the 10th-11th May until the 4th of June the troops under my command pressed against the enemy continuously by sapping, reconnaissance, and local advances; whilst, to do them justice, they (the enemy) did what they could to repay us in like coin. I have given the escalade of Gurkha Bluff as a sample; no forty-eight hours passed without something of the sort being attempted or achieved either by the French or ourselves.

THE ANZAC CORPS.

Turning now to where the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps were perched upon the cliffs of Sari Bair, I must begin by explaining that their rôle at this stage of the operations was—first, to keep open a door leading to the vitals of the Turkish position; secondly, to hold up as large a body as possible of the enemy in front of them, so as to lessen the strain at Cape Helles. Anzac, in fact, was cast to play second fiddle to Cape Helles—a part out of harmony with the dare-devil spirit animating those warriors from the South; and so it has come about that, as your Lordship will now see, the defensive of the Australians and New Zealanders has always tended to take on the character of an attack.

The line held during the period under review by the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps formed a rough semicircle inland from the beach of Anzac Cove, with a diameter of about 1,100 yards. The firing line is everywhere close to the enemy’s trenches, and in all sections of the position sapping, counter-sapping, and bomb attacks have been incessant. The shelling both of the trenches and beaches has been impartial and liberal. As many as 1,400 shells have fallen on Anzac within the hour, and these of all calibres, from 11 inches to field shrapnel. Around Quinn’s Post, both above and below ground, the contest has been particularly severe. This section of the line is situated on the circumference of the Anzac semicircle at the farthest point from its diameter. Here our fire trenches are mere ledges on the brink of a sheer precipice falling 200 feet into the valley below. The enemy’s trenches are only a few feet distant.

On 9th May a night assault, supported by enfilade fire, was delivered on the enemy’s trenches in front of Quinn’s Post. The trenches were carried at the point of the bayonet, troops established in them, and reinforcements sent up.

At dawn on the 10th May a strong counter-attack forced our troops to evacuate the trenches and fall back on Quinn’s Post. In opposing this counter-attack our guns did great execution, as we discovered later from a Turkish officer’s diary that two Turkish regiments on this date lost 600 killed and 2,000 wounded.

On the night of 14th-15th May a sortie was made from Quinn’s Post with the object of filling in Turkish trenches in which bomb-throwers were active. The sortie, which cost us some 70 casualties, was not successful.

On 14th May Lieutenant-General Sir W. B. Birdwood was slightly wounded, but I am glad to say he was not obliged to relinquish the command of his Corps.

DEATH OF GENERAL BRIDGES.

On 15th May, I deeply regret to say, Major-General W. T. Bridges, commanding the Australian Division, received a severe wound, which proved fatal a few days later. Sincere and single-minded in his devotion to Australia and to duty, his loss still stands out even amidst the hundreds of other brave officers who have gone.

On 18th May Anzac was subjected to a heavy bombardment from large-calibre guns and howitzers. At midnight of the 18th-19th the most violent rifle and machine-gun fire yet experienced broke out along the front. Slackening from 3 a.m. to 4 a.m. it then broke out again, and a heavy Turkish column assaulted the left of No. 2 section. This assault was beaten off with loss. Another attack was delivered before daylight on the centre of this section; it was repeated four times and repulsed each time with very serious losses to the enemy. Simultaneously a heavy attack was delivered on the north-east salient of No. 4 section, which was repulsed and followed up, but the pressing of the counter-attack was prevented by shrapnel. Attacks were also delivered on Quinn’s Post, Courtney’s Post, and along the front of our right section. At about 5 a.m. the battle was fairly joined, and a furious cannonade was begun by a large number of enemy guns, including 12-inch and 9.2-inch, and other artillery that had not till then opened. By 9.30 a.m. the Turks were pressing hard against the left of Courtney’s and the right of Quinn’s Post. At 10 a.m. this attack, unable to face fire from the right, swung round to the left, where it was severely handled by our guns and the machine guns of our left section. By 11 a.m. the enemy, who were crowded together in the trenches beyond Quinn’s Post, were giving way under their heavy losses.

According to prisoners’ reports, 30,000 troops, including five fresh regiments, were used against us. General Liman von Sanders was himself in command.

The enemy’s casualties were heavy, as may be judged from the fact that over 3,000 dead were lying in the open in view of our trenches. A large proportion of these losses was due to our artillery fire. Our casualties amounted to about 100 killed and 500 wounded, including nine officers wounded.

A SUSPENSION OF ARMS.

The next four days were chiefly remarkable for the carrying through of the negotiations for the suspension of arms, which actually took place on 24th May. About 5 p.m. on 20th May white flags and Red Crescents began to appear all along the line. In No. 2 section a Turkish staff officer, two medical officers, and a company commander came out, and were met by Major-General H. B. Walker, commanding the Australian Division, half-way between the trenches. The staff officer explained that he was instructed to arrange a suspension of arms for the removal of dead and wounded. He had no written credentials, and he was informed that neither he nor the General Officer Commanding Australian Division had the power to arrange such a suspension of arms, but that at 8 p.m. an opportunity would be given of exchanging letters on the subject, and that meanwhile hostilities would recommence after 10 minutes’ grace. At this time some stretcher parties on both sides were collecting wounded, and the Turkish trenches opposite ours were packed with men standing shoulder to shoulder two deep. Matters were less regular in front of other sections, where men with white flags came out to collect wounded. Meanwhile it was observed that columns were on the march in the valley up which the Turks were accustomed to bring up their reinforcements.

On hearing the report of these movements, General Sir W. R. Birdwood, commanding Australian and New Zealand Army Corps, ordered his trenches to be manned against a possible attack. As the evening drew in the enemy’s concentration continued, and everything pointed to their intention of making use of the last of the daylight to get their troops into position without being shelled by our artillery. A message was therefore sent across to say that no clearing of dead or wounded could be allowed during the night, and that any negotiations for such a purpose should be opened through the proper channel and initiated before noon on the following day.

Stretcher and other parties fell back, and immediately fire broke out. In front of our right section masses of men advanced behind lines of unarmed men holding up their hands. Firing became general all along the line, accompanied by a heavy bombardment of the whole position, so that evidently this attack must have been prearranged. Musketry and machine-gun fire continued without interruption till after dark, and from then up to about 4 a.m. next day.

Except for a half-hearted attack in front of Courtney’s Post, no assault was made till 1.20 a.m., when the enemy left their trenches and advanced on Quinn’s Post. Our guns drove the Turks back to their trenches, and beat back all other attempts to assault. By 4.30 a.m. on 21st May musketry fire had died down to normal dimensions.

As the Turks seemed anxious to bury their dead, and as human sentiment and medical science were both of one accord in favour of such a course, I sent Major-General W. P. Braithwaite, my Chief of the General Staff, on 22nd May, to assist Lieutenant-General Sir W. R. Birdwood, commanding the Army Corps, in coming to some suitable arrangements with the representatives sent by Essad Pasha. The negotiations resulted in a suspension of arms from 7.30 a.m. to 4.30 p.m. on 24th May. The procedure laid down for this suspension of arms was, I am glad to inform your Lordship, correctly observed on both sides.

The burial of the dead was finished about 3 p.m. Some 3,000 Turkish dead were removed or buried in the area between the opposing lines. The whole of these were killed on or since the 18th of May. Many bodies of men killed earlier were also buried.

On the 25th May, with the assistance of two destroyers of the Royal Navy, a raid was carried out on Nibrunesi Point. A fresh telephone line was destroyed and an observing station demolished.

MAJOR QUINN KILLED.

On 28th May, at 9 p.m., a raid was made on a Turkish post overlooking the beach 1,200 yards north of Kaba Tepe, H.M.S. Rattlesnake co-operating. A party of 50 rifles rushed the post, killing or capturing the occupants. A similar raid was made against an enemy trench to the left of our line which cost the Turks 200 casualties, as was afterwards ascertained.

From 28th May till 5th June the fighting seemed to concentrate itself around Quinn’s Post. Three enemy galleries had been detected there, and work on them stopped by counter-mines, which killed 20 Turks and injured 30. One gallery had, however, been overlooked, and at 3.30 a.m. on 29th May a mine was sprung in or near the centre of Quinn’s Post. The explosion was followed by a very heavy bomb attack, before which our left centre subsection fell back, letting in a storming party of Turks. This isolated one subsection on the left from the two other subsections on the right.

At 5.30 a.m. our counter-attack was launched, and by 6 a.m. the position had been retaken with the bayonet by the 15th Australian Infantry Battalion, led by Major Quinn, who was unfortunately killed. All the enemy in the trench were killed or captured, and the work of restoration was begun.

At 6.30 a.m. the Turks again attacked, supported by artillery, rifle, and machine-gun fire and by showers of bombs from the trenches. The fine shooting of our guns and the steadiness of the Infantry enabled us to inflict upon the enemy a bloody repulse, demoralizing them to such an extent that the bomb-throwers of their second line flung the missiles into the middle of their own first line.

At 8.15 a.m. the attack slackened, and by 8.45 a.m. the enemy’s attacks had practically ceased.

Our casualties in this affair amounted to 2 officers, 31 other ranks killed, 12 officers and 176 other ranks wounded. The enemy’s losses must have been serious, and were probably equal to those sustained on 9th-10th May. Except for the first withdrawal in the confusion of the mine explosion, all ranks fought with the greatest tenacity and courage.

On 30th May preparations were made in Quinn’s Post to attack and destroy two enemy saps, the heads of which had reached within 5 yards of our fire trench. Two storming parties of 35 men went forward at 1 p.m., cleared the sap heads and penetrated into the trenches beyond; but they were gradually driven back by Turkish counter-attacks, in spite of our heavy supporting fire, our casualties being chiefly caused by bombs, of which the enemy seem to have an unlimited supply.

During 31st May close fighting continued in front of Quinn’s Post.

On 1st June, an hour after dark, two sappers of the New Zealand Engineers courageously crept out and laid a charge of gun-cotton against a timber and sandbag bomb-proof. The structure was completely demolished.

THE ANZAC MOVEMENTS.

After sunset on the 4th of June three separate enterprises were carried out by the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps. These were undertaken in compliance with an order which I had issued that the enemy’s attention should be distracted during an attack I was about to deliver in the southern zone.

(1) A demonstration in the direction of Kaba Tepe, the Navy co-operating by bombarding the Turkish trenches.

(2) A sortie at 11 p.m. towards a trench 200 yards from Quinn’s Post. This failed, but a second sortie by 100 men took place at 2.55 a.m. on 5th June and penetrated to the Turkish trench, demolished a machine-gun emplacement which enfiladed Quinn’s Post, and withdrew in good order.

(3) At Quinn’s Post an assault was delivered at 11 p.m. A party of 60 men, accompanied by a bomb-throwing party on either flank, stormed the enemy’s trench. In the assault many Turks were bayoneted and 28 captured. A working party followed up the attack and at once set to work. Meanwhile the Turkish trenches on the left of the post were heavily assailed with machine-gun fire and grenades, which drew from them a very heavy fire. After daybreak a strong bomb attack developed on the captured trench, the enemy using a heavier type of bomb than hitherto.

At 6.30 a.m. the trench had to be abandoned, and it was found necessary to retire to the original fire trench of the post and the bomb-proof in front of its left. Our casualties were 80; those of the enemy considerably greater.

On 5th June a sortie was made from Quinn’s Post by 2 officers and 100 men of the 1st Australian Infantry, the objective being the destruction of a machine gun in a trench known as German Officer’s Trench. A special party of 10 men with the officer commanding the party (Lieutenant E. E. L. Lloyd, 1st Battalion (New South Wales) Australian Imperial Force) made a dash for the machine-gun; one of the 10 men managed to fire three rounds into the gun at a range of five feet and another three at the same range through a loophole. The darkness of the trench and its overhead cover prevented the use of the bayonet, but some damage was done by shooting down over the parapet. As much of the trench as possible was dismantled. The party suffered some casualties from bombs, and was enfiladed all the time by machine guns from either flank. The aim of this gallant assault being attained, the party withdrew in good order with their wounded. Casualties in all were 36.

THE BATTLE OF 4TH JUNE.

I now return to the Southern Zone and to the battle of the 4th of June.

From 25th May onwards the troops had been trying to work up within rushing distance of the enemy’s front trenches. On the 25th May the Royal Naval and 42nd Divisions crept 100 yards nearer to the Turks, and on the night of 28th-29th May the whole of the British line made a further small advance. On that same night the French Corps Expéditionnaire was successful in capturing a small redoubt on the extreme Turkish left west of the Kereves Dere.

All Turkish counter-attacks during 29th May were repulsed. On the night of 30th May two of their many assaults effected temporary lodgment. But on both occasions they were driven out again with the bayonet.

On every subsequent night up to that of the 3rd-4th June assaults were made upon the redoubt and upon our line, but at the end of that period our position remained intact.

This brings the narrative up to the day of the general attack upon the enemy’s front line of trenches which ran from the west of the Kereves Dere in a northerly direction to the sea.

Taking our line of battle from right to left, the troops were deployed in the following order:—The Corps Expéditionnaire, the Royal Naval Division, the 42nd (East Lancs) Division, and the 29th Division.

The length of the front, so far as the British troops were concerned, was rather over 4,000 yards, and the total infantry available amounted to 24,000 men, which permitted the General Officer Commanding 8th Army Corps to form a corps reserve of 7,000 men.

My General Headquarters for the day were at the command post on the peninsula.

At 8 a.m. on 4th June our heavy artillery opened with a deliberate bombardment, which continued till 10.30 a.m. At 11 a.m. the bombardment recommenced, and continued till 11.20 a.m., when a feint attack was made which successfully drew heavy fire from the enemy’s guns and rifles. At 11.30 a.m. all our guns opened fire, and continued with increasing intensity till noon.

On the stroke of noon the artillery increased their range, and along the whole line the infantry fixed bayonets and advanced.

The assault was immediately successful. On the extreme right the French 1st Division carried a line of trench, whilst the French 2nd Division, with the greatest dash and gallantry, captured a strong redoubt called the “Haricot,” for which they had already had three desperate contests. Only the extreme left of the French was unable to gain any ground—a feature destined to have an unfortunate effect upon the final issue.

The 2nd Naval Brigade of the Royal Naval Division rushed forward with great dash; the Anson Battalion captured the southern face of a Turkish redoubt which formed a salient in the enemy’s line, the Howe and Hood Battalions captured trenches fronting them, and by 12.15 p.m. the whole Turkish line forming their first objective was in their hands. Their consolidating party went forward at 12.25 p.m.

The Manchester Brigade of the 42nd Division advanced magnificently. In five minutes the first line of Turkish trenches was captured, and by 12.30 p.m. the Brigade had carried with a rush the line forming their second objective, having made an advance of 600 yards in all. The working parties got to work without incident, and the position here could not possibly have been better.

On the left the 29th Division met with more difficulty. All along the section of the 88th Brigade the troops jumped out of their trenches at noon and charged across the open at the nearest Turkish trench. In most places the enemy crossed bayonets with our men and inflicted severe loss upon us. But the 88th Brigade was not to be denied. The Worcester Regiment was the first to capture trenches, and the remainder of the 88th Brigade, though at first held up by flanking as well as fronting fire, also pushed on doggedly until they had fairly made good the whole of the Turkish first line.

THE CHECK ON THE LEFT.

Only on the extreme left did we sustain a check. Here the Turkish front trench was so sited as to have escaped damage from our artillery bombardment, and the barbed wire obstacle was intact. The result was that, though the 14th Sikhs on the right flank pushed on despite losses amounting to three-fourths of their effectives, the centre of the Brigade could make no headway. A company of the 6th Gurkhas on the left, skilfully led along the cliffs by its commander, actually forced its way into a Turkish work; but the failure of the rest of the Brigade threatened isolation, and it was as skilfully withdrawn under fire. Reinforcements were therefore sent to the left, so that, if possible, a fresh attack might be organized.

Meanwhile, on the right of the line, the gains of the morning were being compromised. A very heavy counter-attack had developed against the “Haricot.” The Turks poured in masses of men through prepared communication trenches, and, under cover of accurate shell fire, were able to recapture that redoubt. The French, forced to fall back, uncovered in doing so the right flank of the Royal Naval Division. Shortly before 1 p.m. the right of the 2nd Naval Brigade had to retire with very heavy loss from the redoubt they had captured, thus exposing in their turn the Howe and Hood Battalions to enfilade, so that they, too, had nothing for it but to retreat across the open under exceedingly heavy machine-gun and musketry fire.

By 1.30 p.m. the whole of the captured trenches in this section had been lost again, and the Brigade was back in its original position—the Collingwood Battalion, which had gone forward in support, having been practically destroyed.

The question was now whether this rolling up of the newly captured line from the right would continue until the whole of our gains were wiped out. It looked very like it, for now the enfilade fire of the Turks began to fall upon the Manchester Brigade of the 42nd Division, which was firmly consolidating the furthest distant line of trenches it had so brilliantly won. After 1.30 p.m. it became increasingly difficult for this gallant Brigade to hold its ground. Heavy casualties occurred; the Brigadier and many other officers were wounded or killed; yet it continued to hold out with the greatest tenacity and grit. Every effort was made to sustain the Brigade in its position. Its right flank was thrown back to make face against the enfilade fire, and reinforcements were sent to try to fill the diagonal gap between it and the Royal Naval Division. But ere long it became clear that unless the right of our line could advance again it would be impossible for the Manchesters to maintain the very pronounced salient in which they now found themselves.

THE FINAL ATTACK.

Orders were issued, therefore, that the Royal Naval Division should co-operate with the French Corps in a fresh attack, and reinforcements were dispatched to this end. The attack, timed for 3 p.m., was twice postponed at the request of General Gouraud, who finally reported that he would be unable to advance again that day with any prospect of success. By 6.30 p.m., therefore, the 42nd Division had to be extricated with loss from the second line Turkish trenches, and had to content themselves with consolidating on the first line, which they had captured within five minutes of commencing the attack. Such was the spirit displayed by this Brigade that there was great difficulty in persuading the men to fall back. Had their flanks been covered nothing would have made them loosen their grip.

No further progress had been found possible in front of the 88th Brigade and Indian Brigade. Attempts were made by their reserve battalions to advance on the right and left flanks respectively, but in both cases heavy fire drove them back.

At 4 p.m., under support of our artillery, the Royal Fusiliers were able to advance beyond the first line of captured trenches, but the fact that the left flank was held back made the attempt to hold any isolated position in advance inadvisable.

As the reserves had been largely depleted by the dispatch of reinforcements to various parts of the line, and information was to hand of the approach of strong reinforcements of fresh troops to the enemy, orders were issued for the consolidation of the line then held.

Although we had been forced to abandon so much of the ground gained in the first rush, the net result of the day’s operations was considerable—namely, an advance of 200 to 400 yards along the whole of our centre, a front of nearly 3 miles. That the enemy suffered severely was indicated, not only by subsequent information, but by the fact of his attempting no counter-attack during the night, except upon the trench captured by the French 1st Division on the extreme right. Here two counter-attacks were repulsed with loss.

The prisoners taken during the day amounted to 400, including 11 officers: amongst these were 5 Germans, the remains of a volunteer machine-gun detachment from the Goeben. Their commanding officer was killed and the machine gun destroyed. The majority of these captures were made by the 42nd Division under Major-General W. Douglas.

THE BATTLE OF 21ST JUNE.

From the date of this battle to the end of the month of June the incessant attacks and counter-attacks which have so grievously swelled our lists of casualties have been caused by the determination of the Turks to regain ground they had lost—a determination clashing against our firm resolve to continue to increase our holding. Several of these daily encounters would have been the subject of a separate dispatch in the campaigns of my youth and middle age, but, with due regard to proportion, they cannot even be so much as mentioned here. Only one example each from the French, British, and Australian and New Zealand spheres of action will be most briefly set down, so that Your Lordship may understand the nature of the demands made upon the energies and fortitude of the troops.

1. At 4.30 a.m. on June the 21st the French Corps Expéditionnaire attacked the formidable works that flank the Kereves Dere. By noon their 2nd Division had stormed all the Turkish first and second line trenches to their front, and had captured the Haricot redoubt. On their right the 1st Division took the first line of trenches, but were counter-attacked and driven out. Fresh troops were brought up and launched upon another assault; but the Turks were just as obstinate, and drove out the second party before they had time to consolidate. At 2.45 p.m. General Gouraud issued an order that full use must be made of the remaining five hours of daylight, and that, before dark, these trenches must be taken and held, otherwise the gains of the 2nd Division would be sacrificed. At 6 p.m. the third assault succeeded; 600 yards of trenches remained in our hands, despite all the heavy counter-attacks made through the night by the enemy. In this attack the striplings belonging to the latest French drafts specially distinguished themselves by their forwardness and contempt of danger. Fifty prisoners were taken, and the enemy’s casualties (mostly incurred during counter-attacks) were estimated at 7,000. The losses of the Corps Expéditionnaire were 2,500.

THE BATTLE OF 28TH JUNE.

2. The Turkish right had hitherto rooted itself with special tenacity into the coast. In the scheme of attack submitted by Lieutenant-General A. G. Hunter-Weston, commanding VIIIth Army Corps, our left, pivoting upon a point in our line about one mile from the sea, was to push forward until its outer flank advanced about 1,000 yards. If the operation was successful, then, at its close, we should have driven the enemy back for a thousand yards along the coast, and the trenches of this left section of our line would be facing east instead of, as previously, north-east. Obviously the ground to be gained lessened as our line drew back from the sea towards its fixed or pivoted right. Five Turkish trenches must be carried in the section nearest the sea: only two Turkish trenches in the section farthest from the sea. At 10.20 a.m. on the 28th June our bombardment began. At 10.45 a.m. a small redoubt known as the Boomerang was rushed by the Border Regiment. At 11 a.m. the 87th Brigade, under Major-General W. R. Marshall, captured three lines of Turkish trenches. On their right the 4th and 7th Royal Scots captured the two Turkish trenches allotted to them, but further to the east; near the pivotal point the remainder of the 156th Brigade were unable to get on. Precisely at 11.30 a.m. the second attack took place. The 86th Brigade, led by the 2nd Royal Fusiliers, dashed over the trenches already captured by their comrades of the 87th Brigade, and, pushing on with great steadiness, took two more lines of trenches, thus achieving the five successive lines along the coast. This success was further improved upon by the Indian Brigade, who managed to secure, and to place into a state of defence, a spur running from the west of the furthest captured Turkish trench to the sea. Our casualties were small—1,750 in all. The enemy suffered heavily, especially in the repeated counter-attacks, which for many days and nights afterwards they launched against the trenches they had lost.

ENVER PASHA’S ORDER.

3. On the night of the 29th-30th June the Turks, acting, as we afterwards ascertained, under the direct personal order of Enver Pasha, to drive us all into the sea, made a big attack on the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps, principally on that portion of the line which was under the command of Major-General Sir A. J. Godley. From midnight till 1.30 a.m. a fire of musketry and guns of greatest intensity was poured upon our trenches. A heavy column then advanced to the assault, and was completely crumpled up by the musketry and machine guns of the 7th and 8th Light Horse. An hour later another grand attack took place against our left and left centre, and was equally cut to pieces by our artillery and rifle fire. The enemy’s casualties may be judged by the fact that in areas directly exposed to view between 400 and 500 were actually seen to fall.

On the evening of this day, the 30th of June, the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force suffered grievous loss owing to the wounding of General Gouraud by a shell. This calamity—for I count it nothing less—brings us down to the beginning of the month of July.

The command of the Corps Expéditionnaire français d’Orient was then taken over by General Bailloud, at which point I shall close my dispatch.

THE PROBLEM OF TRANSPORT.

During the whole period under review the efforts and expedients whereby a great army has had its wants supplied upon a wilderness have, I believe, been breaking world records.

The country is broken, mountainous, arid, and void of supplies; the water found in the areas occupied by our forces is quite inadequate for their needs; the only practicable beaches are small, cramped breaks in impracticable lines of cliffs; with the wind in certain quarters no sort of landing is possible; the wastage, by bombardment and wreckage, of lighters and small craft has led to crisis after crisis in our carrying capacity, whilst over every single beach plays fitfully throughout each day a devastating shell fire at medium ranges.

Upon such a situation appeared quite suddenly the enemy submarines. On 22nd May all transports had to be dispatched to Mudros for safety. Thenceforth men, stores, guns, horses, etc., etc., had to be brought from Mudros—a distance of 40 miles—in fleet sweepers and other small and shallow craft less vulnerable to submarine attack. Every danger and every difficulty was doubled.

But the Navy and the Royal Engineers were not to be thwarted in their landing operations either by nature or by the enemy, whilst the Army Service Corps, under Brigadier-General F. W. B. Koe, and the Army Ordnance Corps, under Brigadier-General R. W. M. Jackson, have made it a point of honour to feed men, animals, guns, and rifles in the fighting line as regularly as if they were only out for manœuvres on Salisbury Plain.

I desire, therefore, to record my admiration for the cool courage and unfailing efficiency with which the Royal Navy, the beach personnel, the engineers, and the administrative services have carried out these arduous duties.

A CORPORAL’S APOLOGY.

In addition to its normal duties the Signal Service, under the direction of Lieutenant-Colonel M. G. E. Bowman-Manifold, Director of Army Signals, has provided the connecting link between the Royal Navy and the Army in their combined operations, and has rapidly readjusted itself to amphibious methods. All demands made on it by sudden expansion of the fighting forces or by the movements of General Headquarters have been rapidly and effectively met. The working of the telegraphs, telephones, and repair of lines, often under heavy fire, has been beyond praise. Casualties have been unusually high, but the best traditions of the Corps of Royal Engineers have inspired the whole of their work. As an instance, the central telegraph office at Cape Helles (a dug-out) was recently struck by a high explosive shell. The officer on duty and twelve other ranks were killed or wounded and the office entirely demolished. But No. 72003 Corporal G. A. Walker, Royal Engineers, although much shaken, repaired the damage, collected men, and within 39 minutes reopened communication by apologizing for the incident and by saying he required no assistance.

The Royal Army Medical Service have had to face unusual and very trying conditions. There are no roads, and the wounded who are unable to walk must be carried from the firing line to the shore. They and their attendants may be shelled on their way to the beaches, at the beaches, on the jetties, and again, though I believe by inadvertence, on their way out in lighters to the hospital ships. Under shell fire it is not as easy as some of the critically disposed seem to imagine to keep all arrangements in apple-pie order. Here I can only express my own opinion that efficiency, method, and even a certain quiet heroism have characterized the evacuations of the many thousands of our wounded.

COMMANDS AND STAFF.

In my three Commanders of Corps I have indeed been thrice fortunate.

General Gouraud brought a great reputation to our help from the battlefields of the Argonne, and in so doing he has added to its lustre. A happy mixture of daring in danger and of calm in crisis, full of energy and resource, he has worked hand in glove with his British comrades in arms, and has earned their affection and respect.

Lieutenant-General Sir W. R. Birdwood has been the soul of Anzac. Not for one single day has he ever quitted his post. Cheery and full of human sympathy, he has spent many hours of each twenty-four inspiring the defenders of the front trenches; and if he does not know every soldier in his force, at least every soldier in the force believes he is known to his Chief.

Lieutenant-General A. G. Hunter-Weston possesses a genius for war. I know no more resolute Commander. Calls for reinforcements, appeals based on exhaustion or upon imminent counter-attack are powerless to divert him from his aim. And this aim, in so far as he may be responsible for it, is worked out with insight, accuracy, and that wisdom which comes from close study in peace combined with long experience in the field.

In my first dispatch I tried to express my indebtedness to Major-General W. P. Braithwaite, and I must now again; however inadequately, place on record the untiring, loyal assistance he has continued to render me ever since.

The thanks of every one serving in the Peninsula are due to Lieutenant-General Sir John Maxwell. All the resources of Egypt and all of his own remarkable administrative abilities have been ungrudgingly placed at our disposal.

Finally, if my dispatch is in any way to reflect the feelings of the force, I must refer to the shadow cast over the whole of our adventure by the loss of so many of our gallant and true-hearted comrades. Some of them we shall never see again; some have had the mark of the Dardanelles set upon them for life; but others, and, thank God, by far the greater proportion, will be back in due course at the front.

I have the honour to be

Your Lordship’s most obedient Servant,

IAN HAMILTON,

General,

Commanding Mediterranean Expeditionary Force.

THE SPEECH OF THE GERMAN
IMPERIAL CHANCELLOR.

I.

HERR VON BETHMANN-HOLLWEG’S DEFENCE.

Aug. 19.

The sitting of the Reichstag was opened to-day with a speech by the President, who said:—

While in the West we maintain unflinchingly our gains, and the Dardanelles and Italian frontier attacks are shattered by the bravery of our heroic soldiers, in the East the second year of war brings us and our Allies successes that border on the fabulous.

After the President’s speech the Chancellor spoke. He said:—

Since our last meeting great things have again happened. All attempts of the French, in spite of their contempt for death and the utmost sacrifice of human life, to break our West front have failed against the stubborn pertinacity of our brave troops. Italy, who thought to conquer easily the goods of others which she has coveted, has been thus far brilliantly repulsed in spite of her numerical superiority and unsparing sacrifice of human lives. At the Dardanelles the Turkish Army makes an unflinching stand. Where we have assumed the offensive we have beaten and thrown back the enemy. With our Allies we have freed almost all Galicia, Poland, Lithuania, and Courland from the Russians. Ivangorod, Warsaw, and Kovno have fallen.

Amidst the horrors of war we recall gratefully the practical love of humanity displayed by neighbouring neutral States towards us on the occasion of the return of civilians from hostile countries, and the exchange of prisoners of war. The Netherlands has already twice given ready and devoted assistance to our severely wounded returning from England. I express the heartfelt thanks of the German people to this nation (applause), and add a word of special thanks to the Pope, who has displayed untiring sympathy with the idea of the exchange of prisoners and with so many works of humanity during the war, and to whom belongs the main credit for their realization.

Our enemies incur a terrible bloodguiltiness by seeking to deceive their peoples about the real situation. When they do not deny their defeats our victories serve them to accumulate new calumnies against us. For instance, that we were victorious in the first year of the war because we had treacherously prepared for this war long beforehand, while they in their innocent love of peace (laughter) were not ready for war. You remember the bellicose articles which the Russian Minister of War caused to be circulated in the spring of 1914 in which the complete preparedness for war of the Russian Army was praised; you remember the frequently provocative language which France has employed in recent years; you know that France, whenever she satisfied Russia’s financial needs, made it a condition that the greater portion of the loan should always be applied to war equipment.

Sir Edward Grey said in Parliament on August 3:—“We, with our mighty Fleet, shall, if we participate in the war, suffer little more than if we remained outside.” The man who, on the eve of his own declaration of war, speaks in such a very sober, businesslike tone and who, in accordance therewith, also directs the policy of his friends, can only act so when he knows that he and his Allies are ready. (Loud cheers.) The fable that England participated in the war only for the sake of Belgium has been abandoned in the meantime by England herself. It was not tenable.

ENGLAND AND THE SMALL NATIONS.

Do the smaller nations still believe that England and her Allies are waging war for their protection and the protection and freedom of civilization? Neutral commerce on the sea is strangled by England as far as possible, goods destined for Germany must no longer be loaded on neutral ships. Neutral ships are compelled on the high seas to take English crews aboard and to obey their orders. England without hesitation occupies Greek islands because it suits her military operations, and with her Allies she wishes to constrain neutral Greece to make cessions of territory in order to bring Bulgaria to her side. In Poland Russia, who is fighting with the Allies for the freedom of peoples, lays waste the entire land before the retreat of her armies. Villages are burnt down, cornfields trampled down, and the population, Jews and Christians, are sent to uninhabited districts. They languish in the mud of Russian roads in windowless, sealed goods wagons. Such are the freedom and civilization for which our enemies fight. In her claims to be the protector of smaller States England counts on the world having a very bad memory.

In the spring of 1902 the Boer Republics were incorporated in the British Empire. Then English eyes were turned to Egypt. To the formal annexation of this there was opposed the British Government’s solemn promise to evacuate the land. That same England that to our proposal to guarantee to her Belgium’s integrity if she remained neutral proudly replied that England could not make her obligations relative to Belgian neutrality a matter for bargaining, that same England had no scruple in bartering away to France her solemn obligation undertaken towards all Europe by the conclusion of a treaty with France which was to give to England Egypt and to France Morocco. In 1907 the southern portion of Persia, by agreement with Russia, was converted into an exclusively English sphere of interest, and the northern portion was delivered over to a freedom-loving regiment of Russian Cossacks. (Herr Liebknecht here interjected “Potsdam interview.”) I am coming to that later. Whosoever pursues such a policy has no right to accuse of warlike aspirations and territorial covetousness a country which for forty-four years has protected European peace and, while almost all other countries have waged wars and conquered lands, has striven only for peaceful development. That is hypocrisy. (Tempestuous applause.)

Conclusive testimony of the tendencies of English policy and of the origin of the war is contained in the reports of the Belgian Minister. For what reason are these documents as far as possible hushed up in London and St. Petersburg? The public of the Entente may look at the publications which I caused to be published, particularly about the negotiations of the English Military Attaché with the Belgian military authorities. Here it is a question of England’s policy of isolation. His colleagues in London and Paris form an exactly similar judgment to that of Baron Greindl, and this harmonious judgment is of quite decisive weight.

Against these testimonies all attempts of the enemy to ascribe to us warlike ambitions and to themselves a love of peace fail. Was German policy not informed of these events or did it intentionally close its eyes to them by still seeking an adjustment? Neither one nor the other. There are circles who reproach me with political shortsightedness because I again and again endeavoured to prepare an understanding with England. I thank God that I did. It is clearly proved that the fatality of this devastating world conflagration could have been prevented if an honest understanding with England directed towards peace had been accomplished. Who in Europe would then have thought of making war? With such an aim in view should I have refused the work because it was heavy, and because it again and again proved fruitless?

King Edward saw his main task in personally promoting the English policy of isolation against Germany. After his death I hoped the negotiations for an agreement already inaugurated by us in 1909 would make better progress. The negotiations dragged on till the spring of 1911 without achieving any result. Then England’s interference in our discussion with France in the Morocco question showed the entire world how English policy in order to impose its will on the entire world menaced the world’s peace. Then also the English people was not exactly informed concerning the danger of the policy of its Government. When after the crisis it recognized how, by a hairsbreadth, it had escaped the abyss of a world-war, a sentiment grew up in wide circles of the English nation in favour of establishing relations with us which would prevent warlike complications.

LORD HALDANE’S MISSION.

Thus arose Lord Haldane’s mission in the spring of 1912. Lord Haldane assured me that the English Cabinet was inspired with a sincere desire for an understanding. It was depressed by our impending naval Budget. I asked him whether an open agreement with us, which would not only exclude an Anglo-German war, but any European war whatsoever, did not seem of more importance to him than a couple of German Dreadnoughts more or less. Lord Haldane appeared inclined to this view. He asked me, however, whether if we were assured of security in regard to England, we would not fall upon France and destroy her. I replied that the policy of peace which Germany had pursued for more than forty years ought really to save us from such a question. If we had planned robber-like attacks we could have had the best opportunity during the South African War and Russo-Japanese War to show our love of war. Germany, which sincerely wished to live in peace with France, would just as little think of attacking another country. After Haldane had left negotiations were continued in London. In order to arrive at lasting relations with England we proposed an unconditional mutual neutrality undertaking. When this proposal was rejected by England as going too far, we proposed to restrict neutrality to wars in which it could not be said that the Power to whom neutrality was assured was the aggressor.

This was also rejected by England, who proposed the following formula:—

“England will not make an unprovoked attack on Germany and will refrain from an aggressive policy towards Germany. An attack on Germany is not included in any agreement or combination to which England is at present a party. England will not join any agreement which aims at such an attack.”

My opinion was that among civilized Powers it was not customary to attack other Powers without provocation or join combinations which were planning such things. Therefore a promise to refrain from such attacks could not be made the substance of a solemn agreement. The English Cabinet then proposed to prefix the following to the above formula:—

“As both Powers mutually desire to secure between themselves peace and friendship, England declares that she will not make any unprovoked attack,” &c.

This addition could not in any way alter the nature of the English proposal, and nobody could have blamed me if already at that time I had broken off negotiations. In order to do all in my power to secure the peace of Europe I declared myself ready to accept the English proposal, also on condition that it was completed as follows:—

“England therefore will, of course, observe benevolent neutrality should war be forced upon Germany.”

Sir Edward Grey flatly refused this addition, as he declared to our Ambassador, from fear that it would endanger the existing British friendship with other Powers. This meant for us the conclusion of the negotiations. England thought it a token of special friendship to be sealed by a solemn agreement that she would not fall upon us without reason, but reserved for herself a free hand in case her friends should like to do it.

MR. ASQUITH’S CARDIFF SPEECH.

Mr. Asquith, on October 2, 1914, referred to this at Cardiff. He told his audience that the English formula that England would not attack Germany without provocation was not sufficient for the German statesmen, who demanded that England should remain absolutely neutral in the event of Germany’s being involved in war.

This assertion of Mr. Asquith’s is a misrepresentation of the facts. Naturally we demanded unconditional neutrality at first, but in the course of negotiations we restricted our demand for neutrality to the contingency of war having been forced upon Germany. This Mr. Asquith withheld from his audience. I believe myself justified in declaring that he thereby misled public opinion in England in an unjustifiable manner. If Mr. Asquith had given the complete facts he could not have continued his speech as he did. He said:—

“And this demand, namely, for unconditional neutrality in any war, was proposed by German statesmen at a moment when Germany had greatly increased her aggressive and defensive means of power, especially on the sea. They demanded that we should give them, as far as we were concerned, a free hand, when they chose the moment to conquer and govern Europe.”

I cannot understand how Mr. Asquith could objectively represent so wrongly a fact of which he was very well informed to draw from it conclusions which were contrary to the truth. I mention this incident in order to protest before the entire world against the falsehood and slander with which our enemies fight against us. After we had made, in full cognizance of the anti-German direction of English policy, with the utmost patience, the greatest possible concessions, they wanted to expose us before all the world by an exaggerated misrepresentation of the facts. Should our enemies succeed in drowning also these statements in the noise of battle and in unworthy work of inciting peoples, the time will come when history will pronounce judgment. At that time the moment had come when England and Germany, by a sincere understanding, could have secured the peace of the world. We were ready. England declined; she will never free herself from this blot.

Afterwards, Sir Edward Grey, and the French Ambassador in London, M. Cambon, exchanged the well-known letters which aimed at an Anglo-French defensive alliance, but by separately concluded agreements between both the general staffs and the Admiralty staffs they became in fact an offensive alliance. This fact was also held from the public. Only when there was no way out the English Government on August 3, 1914, informed the public of this. Until then the English Ministers had always declared in Parliament that England in the case of a European conflict reserved a completely free hand. The same policy was pursued by England when naval negotiations in the spring of 1914 were opened with Russia, and the Russian Admiralty desired to invade our province of Pomerania with the assistance of English vessels. Thus the encircling by the Entente with its openly hostile tendencies became narrower. We were obliged to reply to the situation with the great armament of the Budget of 1913.

RELATIONS WITH RUSSIA.

As regards Russia, I have always acted from the conviction that friendly relations to individual members of the Entente might diminish tension. On isolated questions we had come to a good understanding with Russia. I remind you of the Potsdam Agreement. The relations between the Governments were not only correct, but were also inspired by personal confidence. But the general situation was not solved, because the “revanche” idea of France and the bellicose pan-Slav attempts at expansion in Russia were continually encouraged by the anti-German policy of the balance of power of the London Cabinet. The tension thus grew to such an extent that it could not stand a serious test. Thus the summer of 1914 arrived.

In England it is now asserted that war could have been avoided if I had agreed to the proposal of Sir Edward Grey to participate in a conference for the adjustment of the Russo-Austrian conflict. The English proposal for a conference was handed here on July 27 through the Ambassador. The Foreign Secretary, in a conversation with Sir E. Goschen, in which he characterized the proposed method as unsuitable, declared that according to his information from Russia M. Sazonoff was prepared for a direct exchange of opinion with Count Berchtold, and that direct discussion between Petrograd and Vienna might lead to a satisfactory result. Therefore it would be best, Herr von Jagow said, to await this discussion.

Sir E. Goschen reported this to London and received Sir Edward Grey’s answer, namely, that this would be a procedure which was by far to be preferred to all others. At that time Sir Edward Grey agreed to the German standpoint and expressly put aside his proposal for a conference. We especially pursued our mediatory action at Vienna in a form which approached to the last degree the line of what was consonant with our alliance. On July 29 the German Ambassador in Petrograd reported that M. Sazonoff had announced to him that the Vienna Cabinet categorically declined a direct discussion. Therefore nothing else remained than to return to the proposal of Sir Edward Grey for a conversation of four. As the Vienna Government meanwhile declared itself prepared to agree to a direct exchange of opinion with Petrograd, it was obvious that a misunderstanding prevailed.

I telegraphed to Herr von Tschirschky, our Ambassador in Vienna, that we could not expect that Austria-Hungary should negotiate with Serbia, with whom she was in a state of war. But the refusal of any exchange of opinion with Petrograd would be a bad blunder. Though we were ready to fulfil our duty as an ally, we must decline to be drawn into a world conflagration by Austria-Hungary ignoring our advice. Herr von Tschirschky answered that Count Berchtold had declared that in fact a misunderstanding prevailed on the Russian side. The Austro-Hungarian Ambassador in Petrograd at once received corresponding instructions.

When in England shortly before the war excitement increased and serious doubts became loud concerning our endeavours for the preservation of peace, I published this incident in the English Press. And now the insinuation is spread there that this incident never took place at all and that the instructions to Herr von Tschirschky were inventions in order to mislead public opinion. You will agree with me that this accusation is not worthy of reply.

After clearing up the above-mentioned misunderstandings, conversations began between Petrograd and Vienna until they found a conclusion by general mobilization of the Russian Army. I repeat that we carried on direct conversation between Vienna and Petrograd with the utmost vigour and success. The assertion that we, by a refusal of the English proposal for a conference, are guilty of this war belongs to the category of calumnies behind which our enemies wish to hide their own guilt. War became unavoidable solely by a Russian mobilization. We shall emerge as victoriously from the fight against these calumnies as from the great fight on the battlefield.

SOLICITUDE FOR POLAND.

Our and the Austro-Hungarian troops have reached the frontiers in the East defined by the Congress of Poland. Both now have the task of administering the country. For centuries geographical and political fate has forced the Germans and Poles to fight against each other. The recollection of these old differences does not diminish respect for the passion of patriotism and tenacity with which the Polish people defends its old Western civilization and its love of independence in the severe sufferings from Russoism, a love which is maintained also through the misfortune of this war.

I hope that to-day’s occupation of the Polish frontiers against the East represents the beginning of a development which will remove old contrasts between Germans and Poles, and will lead the country, liberated from the Russian yoke, to a happy future, so that it can foster and develop the individuality of its national life. The country occupied by us will be justly administered by us with the assistance of its own population. As far as possible we will try to adjust the unavoidable difficulties of war and will heal the wounds which Russia has inflicted on the country.

This war, the longer it lasts, will leave Europe bleeding from a thousand wounds. The world which will then arise shall and will not look as our enemies dream. They strive for the restitution of the old Europe, with powerless Germany as a tributary of a gigantic Russian Empire. No, this gigantic world’s war will not bring back the old bygone situation. A new one must arise. If Europe shall come to peace it can only be possible by the inviolable and strong position of Germany. The English policy of the balance of power must disappear, because it is, as the English poet Shaw recently said, a hatching oven for wars.

When our Ambassador on August 4 took leave of Sir Edward Grey, the latter said that this war which had broken out between England and Germany would at the conclusion of peace enable him to do us more valuable services than the neutrality of England would allow him. (General laughter.) Before his eyes the giant, victorious Russia, rose, and perhaps behind it, defeated Germany. Then weakened Germany would have been good enough to be a vassal of her helper England. Germany must so consolidate, strengthen, and secure her position that other Powers can never again think of a policy of isolation.

GERMAN FREEDOM FOR ALL PEOPLES.

For our and other people’s protection we must gain the freedom of the seas, not as England did, to rule over them, but that they should serve equally all peoples. We will be and will remain the shield of peace and freedom of big and small nations. We do not menace the little peoples of Germanic race. How busily are the diplomatists of the Quadruple Entente engaged in influencing the Balkan peoples by telling them that the victory of the Central Powers would throw them into slavery, while the triumph of the Quadruple Entente would bring them freedom, independence, gain in territory, and economical thrift.

It is only a few years ago that the hunger for power of Russia created under the motto “The Balkans for the Balkan People,” the union which soon decayed through her favouring the Serbian breach of agreement towards Bulgaria. The German and Austro-Hungarian victories in Poland have freed the Balkans from Russian pressure. England was once the protector of the Balkans. As the Ally of Russia she can only be the oppressor of their independence.

Hardly another great people in the last century has endured such sufferings as the Germans, and yet we can love this fate, which gave us in such sufferings the spirit to accomplish gigantic deeds. For the Empire, at last united, every year of peace was a gain because we made best progress without war. We do not want war. Germany never strove for supremacy in Europe. Her ambition was to be predominant in peaceful competition with great and small nations in works for the general welfare of civilization.

This war has shown of what greatness we are capable, when relying on our own moral strength. The power that our inner strength gave us we cannot employ otherwise than in the direction of freedom. We do not hate the peoples who have been driven into war by their Governments. We shall hold on through the war till those peoples demand peace from the really guilty, till the road becomes free for the new liberated Europe, free of French intrigues, Muscovite desire of conquest, and English guardianship.

Long and stormy applause greeted the conclusion of the Chancellor’s speech, and the House adjourned till Friday.

German Press Comment.

The Berlin correspondent of the Kölnische Volkszeitung said:—

The correspondent noted that the Chancellor spoke hardly at all of France or the fate of Belgium, but added that the Chancellor’s words about Poland caused joyful emotion and surprise throughout the House.

The writer considered that it was a “moment of political importance” when the Chancellor expressed his gratitude to the Pope, and said that a Chancellor of the German Empire “has never in the presence of the assembled Reichstag used warmer words in alluding to the supreme head of the Catholic Church.”

No passage in the speech was so loudly cheered as that in which, while disclaiming hatred, Herr von Bethmann-Hollweg said, “We have lost sentimentality,” a sentence which the correspondent thinks ought to be inscribed over the doors of German Embassies.

Most of the Deputies were present at the sitting, as were also all the Ministers except Admiral von Tirpitz.

George Bernhard, in an article in the Vossische Zeitung, considered that the Chancellor’s instructions to the German representative in Vienna prove the honesty of his endeavours.

The Tägliche Rundschau noted the language used concerning Poland, whereby Poland, doubtless on the basis of discussions with Baron Burian, is promised separation from Russia and a happier future, and took this as implying the creation of an almost independent Poland.

The Kreuz Zeitung drew from the speech the moral that Great Britain’s power must be so broken that the domination of the seas will be permanently taken from her.

The Lokalanzeiger wrote:—

The Berliner Tageblatt writes:—

II.

SIR EDWARD GREY’S REPLY.

THE BRITISH FOREIGN SECRETARY ISSUED THE FOLLOWING
LETTER TO THE PRESS ON 26TH AUGUST.

Sir,—There are some points in the speech of the German Chancellor, made last week, which may, I think, be suitably dealt with in a letter to the Press, pending the fuller review of the situation, which may be appropriate to some other method and time. I will state the facts and the reflections they suggest as briefly and clearly as I can, and ask you to be good enough to make them public.

1. The Belgian record of conversation with the British military attaché was published by Germany last autumn to prove that Belgium had trafficked her neutrality with us, and was in effect in a plot with us against Germany.

The conversation of which most use has been made was never reported to the Foreign Office, nor, as far as records show, to the War Office at the time, and we saw a record of it for the first time when Germany published the Belgian record. But it bears on the face of it that it referred only to the contingency of Belgium being attacked, that the entry of the British into Belgium would take place only after the violation of Belgian territory by Germany, and that it did not commit the British Government. No convention or agreement existed between the British and Belgian Governments. Why does the German Chancellor mention these informal conversations of 1906 and ignore entirely that in April, 1913, I told the Belgian Minister most emphatically that what we desired in the case of Belgium, as in that of other neutral countries, was that their neutrality should be respected, and that as long as it was not violated by any other Power we should certainly not send troops ourselves into their territory?

Let it be remembered that the first use made by Germany of the Belgian document was to charge Belgium with bad faith to Germany. What is the true story? On the 29th July, 1914, the German Chancellor tried to bribe us by a promise of future Belgian independence to become a party to the violation of Belgian neutrality by Germany. On the outbreak of war he described the Belgian Treaty as a scrap of paper, and the German Foreign Secretary explained that Germany must go through Belgium to attack France, because she could not afford the time to do otherwise. The statement of Herr von Jagow is worth quoting again:—

In the Reichstag, too, on the 4th August, 1914, the German Chancellor stated, in referring to the violation of the neutrality of Belgium and Luxemburg:—

The violation of Belgian neutrality was therefore deliberate, although Germany had actually guaranteed that neutrality, and surely there has been nothing more despicably mean than the attempt to justify it ex post facto, by bringing against the innocent and inoffensive Belgian Government and people the totally false charge of having plotted against Germany. The German Chancellor does not emphasize in his latest speech that charge, which has been spread broadcast against Belgium. Is it withdrawn? And, if so, will Germany make reparation for the cruel wrong done to Belgium?

2. The negotiations for an Anglo-German agreement in 1912, referred to by the German Chancellor, were brought to a point at which it was clear that they could have no success unless we in effect gave a promise of absolute neutrality while Germany remained free under her Alliances to take part in European war. This can, and shall, be explained by publishing an account of the negotiations, taken from the records in the Foreign Office.

3. The Chancellor quotes an isolated sentence from my speech of the 3rd August, 1914, to prove that we were ready for war. In the very next sentence, which he might have quoted, but does not quote, I said:—“We are going to suffer, I am afraid, terribly in this war, whether we are in it or whether we stand aside.” I leave it to anyone outside Germany in any neutral country to settle for himself whether those are the words of a man who had desired and planned European war, or of one who had laboured to avert it. The extent of the German Chancellor’s misapplication of the isolated sentence which he quotes will be obvious to anyone who reads the full context of the speech.

As to the other statement attributed to me: not even when we were perfectly free, when Japan, who was our Ally, had not entered the war, and when we were not pledged to other Allies as we are now by the Agreement of the 5th September, 1914, did I say anything so ridiculous or untrue as that it was in the interest of Germany that we had gone to war and with the object of restraining Russia.

4. The war would have been avoided if a Conference had been agreed to. Germany on the flimsiest pretext shut the door against it. I would wreck nothing on a point of form, and expressed myself ready to acquiesce in any method of mediation that Germany could suggest if mine was not acceptable. Mediation, I said, was ready to come into operation by any method that Germany thought possible, if only Germany would press the button in the interests of peace.

The German Chancellor, according to his speech, encouraged nothing except direct discussion between Vienna and Petrograd. But what chance had that of success when, as we heard afterwards, the German Ambassador at Vienna was expressing the opinion that Russia would stand aside, and conveying to his colleagues the impression that he desired war from the first, and that his strong personal bias probably coloured his action there?

Some day, perhaps, the world will know what really passed between Germany and Austria respecting the ultimatum to Serbia and its consequences.

It has become only too apparent that in the proposal of a conference which we made, which Russia, France, and Italy agreed to, and which Germany vetoed, lay the only hope of peace. And it was such a good hope! Serbia had accepted nearly all of the Austrian ultimatum, severe and violent as it was. The points outstanding could have been settled honourably and fairly in a conference in a week. Germany ought to have known, and must have known, that we should take the same straight and honourable part in it that she herself recognized we had taken in the Balkan Conference, working not for diplomatic victory of a group, but for fair settlement, and ready to side against any attempt to exploit the Conference unfairly to the disadvantage of Germany or Austria.

The refusal of a Conference by Germany, though it did not decide British participation in the war, did in fact decide the question of peace or war for Europe, and sign the death warrant of the many hundreds of thousands who have been killed in this war.

Nor must it be forgotten that the Emperor of Russia proposed to the German Emperor that the Austro-Serb dispute should be settled by The Hague Tribunal.

Is there one candid soul in Germany and Austria-Hungary who, looking back on the past year, does not regret that neither the British nor Russian proposal was accepted?

5. And what is the German programme as we gather it from the speech of the Chancellor and public utterances in Germany now? Germany to control the destiny of all other nations; to be “the shield of peace and freedom of big and small nations,” those are the Chancellor’s words; an iron peace and a freedom under a Prussian shield and under German supremacy. Germany supreme, Germany alone would be free: free to break international treaties; free to crush when it pleased her; free to refuse all mediation; free to go to war when it suited her; free, when she did go to war, to break again all rules of civilization and humanity on land and at sea; and, while she may act thus, all her commerce at sea is to remain as free in time of war as all commerce is in time of peace. Freedom of the sea may be a very reasonable subject for discussion, definition, and agreement between nations after this war; but not by itself alone, not while there is no freedom and no security against war and German methods of war on land. If there are to be guarantees against future war, let them be equal, comprehensive, and effective guarantees that bind Germany as well as other nations, including ourselves.

Germany is to be supreme. The freedom of other nations is to be that which Germany metes out to them. Such is apparently the conclusion to be drawn from the German Chancellor’s speech; and to this the German Minister of Finance adds that the heavy burden of thousands of millions must be borne through decades, not by Germany, but by those whom she is pleased to call the instigators of the war. In other words, for decades to come Germany claims that whole nations who have resisted her should labour to pay her tribute in the form of war indemnities.

Not on such terms can peace be concluded or the life of other nations than Germany be free or even tolerable. The speeches of the German Chancellor and Finance Minister make it appear that Germany is fighting for supremacy and tribute. If that is so, and as long as it is so, our Allies and we are fighting and must fight for the right to live, not under German supremacy, but in real freedom and safety.

Your obedient servant,

E. GREY.

Foreign Office, Aug. 25.

III.

THE FACTS OF THE HALDANE MISSION.

THE BRITISH FOREIGN OFFICE ISSUED THE FOLLOWING STATEMENT
ON 1st SEPTEMBER.

An account of the 1912 Anglo-German negotiations was published in the semi-official Norddeutsche Allgemeine Zeitung last month. This account was misleading, and was no doubt intended to mislead, and made it appear that the British Government had at that time rejected what would be regarded in many quarters as a reasonable offer of friendship from Germany.

In these circumstances it may be as well to publish a statement of the facts compiled from official records here. Early in 1912 the German Chancellor sketched to Lord Haldane the following formula as one which would meet the views of the Imperial Government:—

These conditions, although in appearance fair as between the parties, would have been grossly unfair and one-sided in their operation. Owing to the general position of the European Powers, and the treaty engagements by which they were bound, the result of Articles 4 and 5 would have been that, while Germany in the case of a European conflict would have remained free to support her friends, this country would have been forbidden to raise a finger in defence of hers.

Germany could arrange without difficulty that the formal inception of hostilities should rest with Austria. If Austria and Russia were at war Germany would support Austria, as is evident from what occurred at the end of July, 1914; while as soon as Russia was attacked by two Powers France was bound to come to her assistance. In other words, the pledge of neutrality offered by Germany would have been absolutely valueless, because she could always plead the necessity of fulfilling her existing obligations under the Triple Alliance as an excuse for departing from neutrality. On the other hand, no such departure, however serious the provocation, would have been possible for this country, which was bound by no alliances with the exception of those with Japan and Portugal, while the making of fresh alliances was prohibited by Article 5. In a word, as appeared still more evident later, there was to be a guarantee of absolute neutrality on one side, but not on the other.

It was impossible for us to enter into a contract so obviously inequitable, and the formula was accordingly rejected by Sir E. Grey.

Count Metternich upon this pressed for counter-proposals, which he stated would be without prejudice and not binding unless we were satisfied that our wishes were met on the naval question. On this understanding Sir Edward Grey, on the 14th March, 1912, gave Count Metternich the following draft formula, which had been approved by the Cabinet:—

Count Metternich thought this formula inadequate, and suggested two alternative additional clauses:—

This, he added, would not be binding unless our wishes were met with regard to the naval programme.

Sir Edward Grey considered that the British proposals were sufficient. He explained that, if Germany desired to crush France, England might not be able to sit still, though, if France were aggressive or attacked Germany, no support would be given by His Majesty’s Government or approved by England. It is obvious that the real object of the German proposal was to obtain the neutrality of England in all eventualities, since, should a war break out, Germany would certainly contend that it had been forced upon her, and would claim that England should remain neutral. An admirable example of this is the present war, in which, in spite of the facts, Germany contends that war has been forced upon her. Even the third member of the Triple Alliance, who had sources of information not open to us, did not share this view, but regarded it as an aggressive war.

Sir Edward Grey eventually proposed the following formula:—

Sir Edward Grey, when he handed this formula to Count Metternich, said that the use of the word “Neutrality” would convey the impression that more was meant than was warranted by the text; he suggested that the substance of what was required would be obtained and more accurately expressed by the words “will neither make, nor join in, any unprovoked attack.”

Count Metternich thereupon received instructions to make it quite clear that the Chancellor could recommend the Emperor to give up the essential parts of the Novelle (the Bill then pending for the increase of the German Navy) only if we could conclude an agreement guaranteeing neutrality of a far-reaching character and leaving no doubt as to any interpretation. He admitted that the Chancellor’s requirement amounted to a guarantee of absolute neutrality, failing which the Novelle must proceed.

Count Metternich stated that there was no chance of the withdrawal of the Novelle, but said that it might be modified; it would be disappointing to the Chancellor if we did not go beyond the formula we had suggested.

Sir Edward Grey said that he could understand that there would be disappointment if His Majesty’s Government were to state that the carrying out of the Novelle would put an end to the negotiations and form an insurmountable obstacle to the better relations. His Majesty’s Government did not say this, and they hoped the formula which they had suggested might be considered in connection with the discussion of territorial arrangements, even if it did not prove effective in preventing the increase of naval expenditure.

Sir Edward Grey added that if some arrangement could be made between the two Governments it would have a favourable though indirect effect upon naval expenditure as time went on; it would have, moreover, a favourable and direct effect upon public opinion in both countries.

A few days afterwards Count Metternich communicated to Sir Edward Grey the substance of a letter from the Chancellor in which the latter said that, as the formula suggested by His Majesty’s Government was from the German point of view insufficient, and as His Majesty’s Government could not agree to the larger formula for which he had asked, the Novelle must proceed on the lines on which it had been presented to the Federal Council. The negotiations then came to an end, and with them the hope of a mutual reduction in the expenditure on armaments of the two countries.

PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN.

Mis-spelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple spellings occur, majority use has been employed.

Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer errors occur.

A cover was created for this ebook which is placed in the public domain.

[The end of Nelson's History of the War Vol. IX by John Buchan]